


The Fusion Job

by Tam_Cranver



Series: Counterweight [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Leverage Fusion, F/F, Gen, Minor Ben Urich/Doris Urich, Minor Foggy Nelson/Karen Page
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam_Cranver/pseuds/Tam_Cranver
Summary: Karen Page, computer hacker extraordinaire, is bored with retirement–she’d rather use her skills and money to take down corrupt corporations and politicians and give the little guy a hand. Her first target is Rand Enterprises, a chemical company with a spotty safety record and feuding executives. But in order to help the victims of Rand Enterprises’ malfeasance, she’ll have to reconnect with the con artist, ex-assassin, thief, reporter, and nurse who helped her on her last job, convince them to work together again, and figure out just what Rand’s executives are up to. (A Daredevil Leverage AU, with appearances by characters from other Netflix Marvel shows)





	The Fusion Job

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to the moderators of the Defenders Big Bang for setting up such a well-run challenge, to [WinifredS](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WinifredS/pseuds/WinifredS) for talking through the plot and characters with me and for her encouragement, and to [fadedtoblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedtoblue/pseuds/fadedtoblue) for the beautiful cover art. 
> 
> Just a note, this story does contain brief references to past child abuse and brief, off-screen violence.

Karen Page felt that she ought to like Paris a lot more than she did. 

She didn’t _dislike_ it. The food was good; the hotel she was staying in was nice enough, even if the room was a little cramped; and the Champs de Mars was a relaxing place to take a pastry and a coffee in the morning and sit and read. But Karen wasn’t a ‘Sit with a book and soak up the atmosphere’ kind of person, she was a “Change the world with her keyboard” kind of person, and the aged buildings and layers of history over every alleyway and cathedral and statue spoke of a kind of world that Karen couldn’t ever really change, even with the smartphones and McDonald’s restaurants and sleek shopping centers she could see around her, like a new coat of paint on an old wall. 

Paris was like retirement in that way. “Take the money, go clean, and live the good life” sounded good in theory, but in practice, it made something itch under her skin. Which was why she was in Paris to begin with. 

Tracking down Ben had been child’s play; he hadn’t even really been trying to hide anything, and Karen had had the address of his and Doris’s apartment in the Fourth Arondissement for months. But finding Ben was never going to be the hard part; the hard part was going to be convincing him. And for that, Karen had needed a lot of planning, and a lot of money. 

Fortunately, she had a lot of money. And she liked to think she was getting better at planning all the time. 

Ben’s place was down the street from a laundromat and a bakery, and the smells of soap and freshly baking pastries gave the narrow street a wholesome atmosphere that made the sunshine feel brighter and Karen feel, more than ever, that she didn’t belong. _No._ She straightened her shoulders and banished that feeling. She belonged wherever she wanted to belong and lived the life she wanted to live, and fuck anyone who wanted to judge her for that. Maybe it was all bravado, but if it got her through this meeting, she’d take it. She took a deep breath and rang the buzzer. 

“Ah, je peux vous aider?” Ben’s voice crackled over the PA, hesitant and very American-sounding. Karen smiled without really meaning to. She’d really liked Ben, admired him even before meeting him, and hearing his voice was a pleasant reminder of the job they’d done together—the simultaneously least and most successful job of her career—and the people she’d met doing it. 

“Ben?” she said. “It’s Karen.” 

There was a long silence on the other end, long enough for Karen’s nerves to start up again. Then Ben said, “What can I do for you, Karen?” His voice was wary now, and Karen bit her lower lip. 

“I, uh, I came by to talk with you. It’s nothing bad,” she hastened to reassure him. “I just, ah. Can I come up?” 

After another pause, Ben said wryly, “You just came by, huh?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Just happened to be in the neighborhood.” He sounded skeptical. “Yeah, you better come up.” The buzzer went off, and Karen walked through the gate into the apartment’s courtyard, gathering up the remnants of her earlier invincible optimism. So far, so good. 

“Bonjour,” Ben greeted her at the door, looking comfortingly just like he had when she had last seen him. Maybe he had new frames for his glasses, and he definitely looked more well-rested than he had in New York, but his mild, rumpled appearance and sharply observant eyes were familiar and, to Karen at least, reassuring. He quirked an eyebrow and said, “Guess I don’t need to ask how you knew the address.” 

Karen shrugged. “Didn’t know it was a secret.” 

Over the sound of the TV in the living room down the hall, Doris’s voice came floating back to them. “Is that Karen I hear?” 

“Hi, Doris,” Karen called, pleased that Doris had remembered her name. Dementia didn’t just go away, but Karen figured that Doris had to be feeling at least a little better—apparently, Ben and Doris had a nurse who visited three times a week, but she sounded pretty with it now, so whatever experimental drug she was taking was clearly helping. 

“Come on in, honey!” Doris called. “We got coffee and cake back here.” 

Ben rolled his eyes up as if asking the ceiling for guidance. “You’re just in time for the end of Talking Head Hour.” 

“Talking Head Hour?” The apartment was nice, she noticed as she walked back to the living room—tidy and stylish, but it didn’t look much like Ben and Doris. Karen thought they had probably rented it furnished, already full of nice French things, with not much to remind them of New York and everything that had happened there. 

Doris was seated on a sofa in front of the television, which was playing some French news show in which pundits yelled at each other. Karen’s French wasn’t what it could be, but she caught a couple of words in the crossfire that made her think they were arguing about the Euro. There was a tray on the coffee table in front of Doris with a flaky, golden pastry and a little French press full of rich-smelling coffee. Doris smiled at Karen and patted the seat next to her when Karen and Ben came in, and Karen settled herself down carefully next to her, trying not to shift the cushions too much. In New York, Doris had struck her as…fragile. 

She didn’t seem terribly fragile now, though, as she said, “Talking Head Hour. This show comes on every day at four, and Ben and I try to pick up what we can, work on our French. I’ll tell you, these folks make Marie-Louise at the restaurant around the corner a lot easier to understand in comparison.” She took a sip of coffee, which she was drinking out of a pretty china teacup, and said, “So how’ve you been, Karen? The computer hacking treating you well?” 

Karen froze halfway to pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Oh. Um. Ben told you about that?” 

“Oh, it took me a while, but I got the whole story out of him eventually.” She set her coffee down on a saucer. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how you found us, but I’m a little curious as to why.” She gestured at the French press Karen was still holding. “You gonna pour that?” 

“Oh, uh—” Karen didn’t know why she was so caught off-guard. It wasn’t like she hadn’t known Ben and Doris were together in Paris, and it would have been pretty strange if Ben just hadn’t told Doris about how they’d gotten the money to go there. But she hadn’t met Doris as Pagemaster, the woman you went to if you wanted to hack the government’s e-mails or a rival’s bank accounts; she’d met Doris as Karen, a friend of Ben’s. Karen wasn’t ashamed of her work as Pagemaster, far from it, but there was something disconcerting about talking about it in broad daylight in this classy living room. 

Ben switched off the television and took the French press from Karen, setting it back down on its tray. “Think we’ve heard enough about the Euro for the day,” he said. “Now, Karen, I know you didn’t come all the way over here to drag me back into that business with Confederated Global, did you?” His voice was mild, but the arch of his eyebrow said that she had _better_ not have come to drag him into it. 

She hadn’t. Technically. “Of course not,” she said. “I, um. I actually had another job I was thinking of taking up. Thought maybe you’d want to get in on it.” 

Ben blinked a few times. His mouth tightened, then relaxed, then twisted down into a frown. “Now why the hell would you think that?” he asked finally. 

Karen hurriedly reached into her messenger bag for the dossier she’d put together. Ben had always struck her as someone who preferred the old-school paper method of information delivery. “Look, it’s not—it’s not a heist or anything like that. More of an...exposé, really. What do you know about Rand Enterprises?” 

The look Ben gave her was flat and searching, as if he was trying to figure out her angle, but slowly he said, “Chemical and oil processing company. Some work in aerospace but more work in energy and pharmaceuticals. CEO and his wife died in a plane crash some fifteen years ago, now the son and the old business partner and his kids are in charge.” 

“Exactly,” said Karen. “Most of the press lately’s been about the internal politics of the company, but I’m pretty sure that’s a distraction from their terrible safety and environmental record.” She pulled a printout from the folder—she’d selected this article because it had a big photograph of the truck crash, though it wasn’t quite as impressive in the low resolution printout from the hotel business lounge. She should have brought her own printer. “2007. A Rand Enterprises truck collided with an SUV outside of Indianapolis, spilling industrial waste and causing a multi-car pileup. A year later, everyone involved in the crash had been diagnosed with a rare form of brain cancer.” Another printout. “2000. A Rand processing plant in Colorado contaminated the water supply. Since then, the rate of birth defects in the town has more than quadrupled.” Another printout. “2010. Rand Enterprises started marketing a cholesterol drug that, every now and then, would just make peoples’ hearts give out.” She started pulling papers out of the folder in piles. “Seattle. LA. New York. Orlando. And that’s just domestic incidents—abroad, the company’s caused even more weird health problems and _death_.” 

Doris reached gently across the table to close the folder, resting her hand on Karen’s for a moment. Karen started, surprised by the touch, and Doris pulled her hand back. “It sounds like an unethical company,” said Doris, her voice quiet. “You don’t have to sell us on that. But what exactly are you looking to do about it?” 

This was the part that was going to be tricky. “I was thinking that—well, we get the gang back together. Foggy, Elektra, Matt, you and Claire, all of us. We took down one company, we could do it again, right?” 

“Karen, I’m a reporter,” said Ben. “Well.” He and Doris exchanged wry glances, Doris looking a little impatient and Ben looking a little stubborn. “A retired reporter,” he corrected. “That Confederated Global thing was a one-off—I don’t do that shit on the regular. And this sounds like a job for a class-action lawsuit or twenty, since clearly media exposure isn’t getting the job done.” He gestured at her pile of printouts. 

Karen groaned. “No, that’s the thing, nobody’s drawing the connections between the different incidents. That’s the kind of thing you do! You see the patterns, and the rest of us get you the smoking gun! And people have _tried_ suing Rand before, and either the company’s fancy lawyers bury them, or they buy them off with a _woefully_ inadequate settlement and the whole thing gets buried. It’s not _right_ , and it’s exactly the kind of thing our team could fix!” 

“Our team?” Ben quirked an eyebrow at her. 

Karen straightened up. “Well, okay. Keep—keep an open mind here. I’ve been thinking that….” She stopped and glanced at Doris. How much had Ben told her about what the gang did? How much did he want her to know? How much did she want to know? 

As if Doris had read her mind, she returned Karen’s glance with a sharp look. “Anything you say to him, you say to me. I may be losing my marbles, but I got more than enough left to be working with.” 

“Doris,” Ben began gently, and she turned around to glare at him. 

“No, Ben. Nobody’s sending me to my room like I’m a goddamned little girl again.” 

“Wasn’t going to,” said Ben. 

“It’s nothing bad,” Karen burst in, unsettled by the sudden tension between Doris and Ben. “Just—think about it! You’ve got the big picture stuff, righting wrongs and uncovering secrets, right? And you and Claire keep everything running smoothly. But the hands-on stuff, Matt and Elektra and Foggy and I can do that. We could—we could be like Robin Hood, or, I don’t know, the guys in The Sting. You find us bad guys, we take them down, we split up any profits and put some of it toward expenses. It could be—we could help so many people, you know, take down these targets that nobody else can touch.” 

“Help a lot of people, rip off a lot of corporations,” said Ben drily. 

Karen shrugged, refusing to feel guilty. “What, are they just supposed to keep their ill-gotten gains? All this stuff that _they_ got from ripping off consumers or cutting corners and hurting people? Plus,” she added practically, “I don’t know if I can get Elektra and Foggy and Matt onboard without some kind of promised compensation, and there’s obviously going to be some overhead on the jobs.” 

Doris gave Karen a curious look, her earlier anger apparently forgotten. “You sound like you want to start a company. I didn’t think that was really a computer hacker thing.” 

“Depends on the company, I guess,” said Karen. “I can get all the money I want on my own, but to take out that Confederated Global douche…that felt good. That felt like an _accomplishment_.” 

“So hold on,” Ben broke in. “Have you already approached the others about this?” 

She hesitated. Getting a building was easy. Coming up with the paperwork for inventing a company out of thin air was the kind of thing Karen did for fun on a Saturday night. But approaching a bunch of people who hadn’t been too keen on working with her in the first place…. “I thought I’d get you on board first,” she said to Ben, as confidently as she could. “After all, you were the first one to join the team last time, and I think the rest of them would feel a lot more confident signing on if they knew you’d be working with us.” 

“Karen, I think you’re forgetting something.” Ben stood up, wiped his hands on his pants, and went to go put his mug in the sink of the little kitchen attached to the living room. It was close enough that Karen could hear him clearly, even though he was facing away from her. “I didn’t _join a team_ last time. I got conned by a prick in a suit into ripping off his business rivals for him. And I didn’t do it because I was so jazzed up by the prospect of carrying out a heist, I did it because his boss bought a hospital and kicked Doris out.” 

“And it turned out real badly for us,” said Doris mildly, glancing at his back. He turned back around. 

“Not the point, Doris.” He was getting impatient. “The point is, we’re walking a real thin line with those people. Now we’ve got just enough of an edge over them to keep them off our backs if we stay out of things. We start messing with other companies, making more enemies—” 

“But there aren’t any connections between Rand and Fisk, I checked!” Karen interjected. 

Ben shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. We’ve got enough money to live a good life for the rest of our lives. I may be dumb, but I ain’t dumb enough to go poking the hornet’s nest at this point. You want to take down Rand with a news article, I don’t know, maybe send me your info and I can pass it along, but I’m not getting myself mixed up in another disaster.” He set the clean mug down on the counter with resounding firmness. 

Karen blinked, trying not to let her disappointment show. It wasn’t as if she’d really _expected_ him to agree the first time she asked, but still, she’d hoped. “All right,” she said. “Well. I guess I won’t take up any more of your time, then.” She stood and grabbed her purse off the floor. “It was good seeing you guys again. I’m glad you’re doing so much better, Doris. If you change your mind, Ben….” She dug a pad of Post-its out of her purse and scribbled her e-mail address on one of them. “Private server. I set it up myself, so you shouldn’t have to worry about anything you send me getting hacked.” She hovered awkwardly for a minute before sticking the Post-it to the coffee table. 

“Uh-huh,” said Ben skeptically. “Nice seeing you, too.” 

Out of the corner of her eye as she turned to leave, Karen could see Doris’s hand move. Maybe she was waving goodbye. 

If Karen had learned anything at all from the incident with Confederated Global, it was the value of a backup plan. Hers required flying back to New York and finding a Cuban restaurant in Harlem. 

Soledad’s was a cozy little neighborhood place, full of locals on their lunch breaks and warm, savory smells, pork and frying onions and toasting bread. Karen felt like everyone’s eyes were on her, an outsider in their midst. It didn’t help that Claire’s mother wasn’t particularly keen on telling a stranger where her daughter was. Karen imagined that Claire had probably filled her mom in on at least the basics of how Claire was suddenly super rich, so it was hard to blame Soledad for being suspicious. Luckily for Karen, though, Claire herself came in after a few minutes and stopped dead in her tracks. 

“Oh, no,” she said. But she sounded exasperated, not really angry, so Karen turned and grinned at her. It was good to see her face. 

“Oh, yes. Hi, Claire.” 

Claire gave her mother an exasperated look and said, “It’s fine, Ma, I know her, go back to what you were doing.” Soledad gave Karen one more narrow-eyed glance before vanishing into the kitchen, and Karen let out a sigh of relief. Claire made a disgruntled noise and settled herself in a booth, lifting the strap of her messenger bag over her head to thump it down on the seat next to her. “Hi, Karen. Lemme guess, you’re here to see if I want to upgrade my cable package.” 

“Please, like I’d make anyone pay for cable. I’d just get it for you for free.” She slid into the booth across from Claire. “How’ve you been?” She looked good. She was clearly in her element here, in her mom’s restaurant, moving with a confidence that Karen had only really seen glimpses of on their previous job together, when everyone had been stressed and mistrustful. She felt a momentary pang of doubt. Maybe she wasn’t doing the right thing, coming to Claire. Maybe this was the kind of thing crooks did for redemption, not the kind of thing you dragged honest nurses and investigative reporters into. 

“Eh,” said Claire, shrugging exaggeratedly. “Not so bad. Catching up on my to-read list, working my way through a list of 1,000 movies apparently you have to see before you die. Took up karate.” 

“Wow. That sounds…boring.” Except for the karate. Karen wouldn’t have minded seeing that. The pang of doubt went away. She kept her voice light as she said, “You sound like someone who needs something to do.” 

Claire made a face. “Hmm. Yeah, well, I’m not really ready to throw myself back into nursing right now. Just not feeling it. I think maybe, after all that craziness...” She looked around as if she thought someone might be listening in on their conversation. “You know. That craziness where we met.” 

“I know,” said Karen, amused. 

“Well.” Claire leaned back in the booth, looking mildly sheepish. “After all that, I felt like maybe I needed to take a step back. Reassess things.” 

“And how’s that going?” Karen tried not to sound too eager. 

A shaft of light from the window lit Claire’s face as she leaned her chin in her hand and thought about her answer. “It’s…I don’t know. Things are probably different for you, but for me…it’s hard to go back to everyday life after something like that.” 

“I might be able to help with that.” Claire raised an eyebrow at her, and Karen clarified. “I have something to do. If you’re interested.” 

Claire stood up. “Yeah, okay. This sounds like the kind of talk we don’t have in my mom’s restaurant. Mom!” Mrs. Temple poked her head out of the kitchen door, her smile dropping into a look of suspicion again as her eyes fell on Karen. “Ma,” Claire went on, “This is my friend Karen. We’re gonna go grab a coffee, but I’ll be back soon and we can talk about dinner, okay?” 

“Okay,” said Mrs. Temple, not looking entirely convinced. “You call me if you need anything, okay?” 

Claire rolled her eyes. “Sure.” 

“Is there some reason your mom doesn’t like me?” Karen asked once they were outside. She wasn’t exactly offended, but she had to wonder what exactly she’d done to piss Mrs. Temple off. 

“Don’t mind her,” said Claire. “Once she heard about the ‘people trying to kill me thing,’ and the ‘crappy corporate people buying Metro General’ thing, and then once she heard that those were the same people, who were also the ones getting arrested on TV for corporate malfeasance…well, let’s just say she’s feeling pretty ‘us against the world’ right now.” 

“Oh,” said Karen. “I can see that.” _Us against the world._ About the only time Karen had ever felt that way had been when she and Ben and Claire and the rest had been working together to bring down Confederated Global. And maybe with Kevin. But she wasn’t thinking about that now. 

She and Claire grabbed coffees to go from the nearest Starbucks and took a walk with them while Karen explained the situation with Rand Enterprises and what she wanted to do about it. What she wanted to build. Claire’s face was serious and engaged throughout, but Karen couldn’t exactly guess what she was thinking. When she finally ran out of things to say, she studied Claire’s expression carefully, preparing herself for another rejection. 

“Huh,” Claire said, exhaling slowly. “And you—you’ve already gotten this business set up? With a building and everything?” 

That wasn’t a no. “Wasn’t hard,” said Karen. “I got us tax records and a website and everything. I could show you the offices if you like—they’re in town.” 

“That’s okay. Just—wasn’t that kind of a leap? To go ahead and get all this set up before you even knew whether anyone else was going to sign on?” 

Karen swallowed. “I actually kind of thought that that might be a reason for you to sign on. If I showed that we wouldn’t be rushing into this the way we rushed into the Confederated Global thing.” 

Claire nodded, more to herself than to Karen. “Yeah, okay. And—and how exactly would this work? Would we just be picking the targets based on who’s the most evil today, or what?” 

“Well, we certainly _could_ identify targets on our own. I think between the six of us, we’d be able to gather enough information to do it. But I was actually thinking that maybe—” It wasn’t a fully developed idea, but it was one that had intrigued Karen from the start, and one she hoped that having a public face for their team’s company would help facilitate. “Maybe we put out feelers online, or word of mouth or something, and then—maybe people who need help, who haven’t been able to get it through legal channels, could come to us. And we could evaluate their situation or whatever, and either we could go after the people hurting them, or, if it’s not a good fit for us, hook them up with good lawyers or whatever.” 

Claire didn’t respond, and Karen pulled herself out of her thought process to look at her. “Well?” she asked. 

“I actually…kind of like that idea,” Claire said. “It just seems _very_ different from how you wanted to play this the first time around. As I recall, you weren’t real big on the idea of getting involved with either us or, you know, other people’s messes, if they were going to cause you any problems.” 

She wasn’t exactly calling Karen selfish, but it was where the line of conversation was going. “To be fair,” Karen said, mildly irritated, “getting into other people’s messes is absolutely my thing, just I usually do it anonymously over the internet. And I didn’t know you then. It’s hard to ask someone to put their life on the line for a bunch of strangers.” 

“Except that’s what you’d probably be doing with this new idea of yours, if it played out anything like that Confederated Global thing did,” Claire pointed out. Her voice was gentle, but the line of her mouth was firm, her dark eyes serious. 

“Yeah, well.” Karen shrugged. “I guess I figured—I actually don’t mind the danger, if it’s _for_ something. If I’m doing something real. You know?” 

Claire let out a gusty sigh. “Yeah. I know.” She reached a hand up to push a strand of hair out of her eyes. “So. Who were you thinking of going to next?” 

Probably Foggy, since I think he’ll be the easiest to sell on it once I tell him there’s money involved.” A growing lightness in her chest made it hard to keep a smile off her face. “Does this mean you want in?” 

“Hey, I’m not promising anything. But…” Claire briefly cast her eyes up to the sky before fixing Karen with a look of resigned amusement. “I feel like I’ve been spending a lot of time just watching things happen around me. You’re not the only one who likes the idea of actually _doing_ something.” 

Karen grinned. “Let’s go, then.” 

In the years since Karen had left Vermont, she’d never actually made it out to Singapore. It didn’t surprise her, though, that Foggy looked completely at home, chatting with businessmen in expensive-looking suits in a restaurant where they didn’t put the prices on the menu and the number of Michelin stars was upwards of one. Karen caught his eye over the drink menu and waved, and something sharp entered Foggy’s eyes. He excused himself from the cluster of businessmen and came over to Karen and Claire’s table. 

“Well, well, well,” he said. Karen had forgotten that one of the things that made her nervous about Foggy was that she couldn’t tell whether the joviality in his voice was fake or not; it sounded equally sincere either way. “What brings you ladies to Singapore?” 

“Wasn’t this appetizer list,” said Claire with a grimace, setting the menu down. “Jesus, as much money as they charge at this place, you’d think they’d be able to come up with something that doesn’t sound like they invented it in a chemistry lab.” 

Foggy laughed his genial laugh at that. “That’s _why_ they charge so much.” 

“You busy?” asked Karen. If she had to guess, she’d say he was in the middle of a con. But then, she didn’t actually know that much about Foggy’s life. 

“Yeah. Meet me at the Other Room at the Tang Plaza Marriott at 10:00 tonight if you want to talk.” It was kind of fascinating how casual his face and voice were, when that first sharp look had made it clear that they had surprised him. “If you don’t….” He shrugged. “Well, enjoy Singapore!” With that, he turned and went back to sit down among his well-dressed entourage. 

“You know what _I_ want to know?” asked Claire as they watched Foggy laugh and clink his glass with the woman sitting next to him. “You think that guy ever looks like he’s having a bad time? Every time I see him, he’s smiling.” 

Karen shrugged. “Con artist thing, I guess.” 

“Must be one of the upside of being a computer hacker, right?” Claire asked, grinning wryly at Karen. “Don’t have to smile all the time. Don’t even really have to put on pants.” 

It could also, Karen had realized lately, be one of the downsides. She had plenty of connections online, people she knew by online handle, but nobody ever really _saw_ anyone else, and their interactions with each other tended to revolve entirely around the technical challenges of a specific job. She had her fannish life as well, which involved more casual conversation, but this trip with Claire was the most she’d spent physically interacting with a person in a long time, and it made something light up inside her, something she’d kind of forgotten she even had. 

She wasn’t about to tell Claire any of that, though, so instead she just grinned and said, “You know it.” 

The Other Room was filled with young people out clubbing, their fashionable outfits and hi-tech gadgets an odd combination with the Prohibition-era cocktails they were sipping. Foggy apparently had a reservation, and it was unexpectedly easy for Foggy, Claire, and Karen to isolate themselves from the crowd at their little corner table. He was, unsurprisingly, an amiable person to drink with. They kind of forgot what they’d come out there for as Foggy bought the rounds and regaled them with funny anecdotes from various cons he’d pulled over the years, and so Karen felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her when he set his drink down, looked at them with serious eyes and said, “All right. Why are you two here?” 

Karen blinked, hastily pulled together the spiel she’d given Ben, Doris, and Claire, and summed it up for Foggy. He listened with an expression that told Karen nothing other than that he was listening—any other emotional response to what she was saying was locked behind his eyes. 

When she finished, he took another sip of his drink and said, “Are you kidding me right now?” 

“No…?” 

“No, seriously, you track me down across the _globe_ because you want to, what, set up some kind of professional Robin Hood company?” 

“Oh, like what you’re doing here now is so much more sensible?” Claire snapped back. “Don’t even front, we all know you’re running some con down here. Is the idea of doing it _with_ other people, to _help_ other people, that goddamned weird to you?” 

Foggy seemed not to have expected an argument from that corner, and he raised an eyebrow at Claire. “Well, coming from you, given your inexperience running cons as a _nurse_ , yeah, it’s a little weird.” 

“Yeah, well.” Claire shrugged. “You become a multimillionaire working with a bunch of crooks to avoid getting whacked by a creepy CEO guy, you tend to change your outlook on life a little.” 

“I guess so.” Turning back to Karen, he said, “Look, the job I worked with you guys was fun, and I got a good chunk of change out of it. But I don’t know that I’d call it _life-changing_ fun, or _life-changing_ money, for that matter.” 

“You have way too much money if you can go around saying shit like that,” Claire said. 

“Yeah, maybe. But this is what I do for a living. You really think you’re gonna come, tell me to do the work setting up cons for the good of mankind, and I’m just gonna jump at the chance to work with your crew for free?” 

“There’d be money in it for you,” Karen hastened to point out. Perhaps she hadn’t emphasized this enough the first time around. “Maybe not—I don’t know what you consider _life-changing_ money, but the ‘stealing from the rich’ part would definitely involve money for you. Hell, for a lot of them, the corporations, you’ll probably be able to sell their stocks short, the way you did with Confederated Global.” Maybe it wouldn’t help her argument, but she couldn’t help but add, “And hell, given your investment portfolio, you don’t even really need to work to make money for the rest of your life.” 

Foggy tilted his head, giving her a mildly curious look that, for all Karen knew, could mean he was ready to kill her. “You’ve been digging into my finances?” 

“Hacker,” Karen said. “Plus, you gave me a lot of information about your financial connections on that last job.” 

“Yeah, I guess I did.” He clasped his hands together in front of him, rubbing the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other as he rested his elbows on the table and stared into the middle distance for a minute. Claire and Karen exchanged glances, unsure if this meant he was genuinely considering their words or if this was part of a con he was pondering. 

Finally he said, “I’ll admit, as a crew, you guys have...an interesting skill set, shall we say. It seemed to me that last time, though, Ben was taking the lead. What does he say about all this?” 

Mildly irritated, Karen said, “He says he’s not interested, but he is. I know he is. And if we can get everyone else on board, I think he’ll do it.” And, to give credit where credit was due, “And if you help persuade him, I know he’ll do it. You’re a persuasive guy.” 

Foggy nodded thoughtfully. “All right. Tell you what. You get Matt and Elektra to sign on, I’ll consider helping you persuade Ben. I’m not promising to settle down and make this a regular thing,” he cautioned as he stood up. “But what the hey. This job I’m on now is just about wrapped up, might as well do something a little different.” Without further ado, he turned and started walking away. 

Karen wasn’t sure whether to take this as a victory or not. But before she could decide, Foggy twisted his head around to look at them again. “Can I offer a suggestion?” 

“Sure,” said Karen. 

“Go for Matt first.” 

Claire frowned. “Why?” 

“I think he’ll be the easier sell, and he’s got skills Elektra would like to have access to. Among other things,” he said enigmatically. “If he does it, she will too.” 

“What makes you think he’s gonna be the easier sell?” Claire asked. “I didn’t get the impression he was all that big on, like, human interaction.” 

“Eh. Just a hunch,” Foggy said with a shrug. “He and I are friends on Goodreads.” He smiled, a little less shiny than what Karen called his ‘trust me, I’m definitely not a con man’ smile. “It was good to see you guys again.” 

“You— _what_?” But before Karen could ascertain whether he was being serious about the Goodreads thing, or process that smile, Foggy had vanished into a crowd of seriously tipsy college-age partiers, and Claire and Karen were alone again with their expensive drinks. 

“I have to tell you,” said Claire, taking a gulp of her whiskey sour, “this is among the weirder trips I’ve ever been on.” 

Matt was a little harder to track than the others had been, because he _wasn’t_ traveling a lot or spending a lot of money—or at least, if he was, he was paying for things with cash or had accounts Karen didn’t know about, which seemed unlikely to her. Not to be arrogant or anything, but Karen had serious doubts about Matt’s ability to set up a financial trail that she couldn’t follow. And yet, it was almost a week later before she and Claire were waiting for him on a street in Chicago. 

"Judging from his location at the last camera sighting," said Karen, looking around, "he shouldn't be too far from here." Like most city blocks, this one seemed crammed full of possible places for a thief to hide—a little bodega, a church of some kind, a couple of apartment buildings, a McDonald's. There wasn't much here that Karen could see attracting a thief of Matt's caliber—his reputation was for stealing unstealable works of art and breaking into uncrackable vaults, not ripping off fast-food restaurants—but he legitimately couldn't have gotten too far, and a blind man was a conspicuous enough sight that Karen was optimistic about their chances of finding him. 

Claire gave her an odd look. "Is this where you bring out the scent hounds?" she asked. "Because there's a lot of ground to cover here, and we're gonna get the cops called on us if we snoop around people's buildings like a couple of stalkers." 

And there went Karen's optimism. "We're not _stalking_ anyone," she snapped. It wasn't Karen's fault that Matt had disabled the GPS she’d put on his phone and had, according to all the information she could dig up on him, a lifelong habit of staying under the radar. "We're tracking him down to offer him a job opportunity." 

"Like we _tracked Foggy down_ in Singapore, gotcha," said Claire skeptically. She took a quick, furtive look around, and then her eyes widened. "Well," she said in a completely different tone of voice, "here's your chance." 

Karen turned her head to see what Claire had been looking at. It was the church across the way, an old-looking stone monstrosity, and sure enough, among the crowd of churchgoers filing out was Matt. The cane and sunglasses made him easy to identify, but while he'd spent most of their last job dressed in a ratty hoody over a ratty t-shirt and workout pants, now he was dressed in a well-worn brown corduroy jacket and khaki pants. He had _dressed up_ —this was clearly the Matt equivalent of _dressing up_. He was _going to church_. 

Matt froze; someone ran into him from behind, and he spent the next minute engaged in a series of what looked like back-and-forth apologies before he extracted himself from the crowd and made his way over to Karen and Claire. 

"Hi," he said, his voice so flat and emotionless that Karen felt instinctively glad for the gun in her purse, and then felt stupid for that shiver of reflexive fear. They had parted ways on good terms last time; there was no reason whatsoever for Matt to want to hurt either her or Claire. 

Next to her, Claire sighed and said, "Hi." 

Karen had meant to open with a suggestion that they move the discussion somewhere more private, but what came out was, "What, are you casing the joint?" 

Matt's glasses were so dark as to be opaque, but the movement of his eyebrows made it clear that he was blinking at her. "The church?" he asked. "No. I was going to Mass." 

"Wow," said Claire. "A blind, Catholic cat burglar. Now I've seen everything." 

He snorted without smiling. "I'm also a Libra, if that'll help you get bingo." He tapped his cane on the sidewalk a few times. "What are you two doing here? I thought we were going our separate ways after that Confederated Global thing." 

It was absurd to be thrown off her game by the fact that Matt was religious. People could believe whatever they wanted, it wasn't any of Karen's business, and besides, even if Catholicism had been anything like her parents' brand of religion, which it wasn't, he couldn't be that religious and still be a thief. She found her voice again. "We might have a job for you." 

Matt tilted his head curiously at her. "The two of you have a job? For me?" 

Okay, yeah, Karen would probably be skeptical, too. "Well, not _exactly_ the two of us. We hope. Wanna grab coffee and talk it over?" 

He chewed on his lower lip for a long moment. "Hmm." He turned his head sideways, giving Karen a great view of his profile, and frowned thoughtfully before finally saying, "Sure. Why the hell not?" 

They went back to the hotel where Karen and Claire were staying. The lounge was empty, so Karen and Claire got cappuccinos and Matt a black coffee, and they found a corner to talk in. He was visibly uncomfortable as he eased himself onto a loveseat across from the couch where Karen and Claire were sitting, but he sipped his coffee without comment as Karen explained her plan. She had planned to add a bit about how they could make money off it the same way they had Confederated Global—she’d learned her lesson from their conversation with Foggy—but before she could even get to that part, Matt said, "Okay." 

Nonplussed, Karen sat back. "Okay?" 

Matt shrugged. "Okay. I'll do it. Those executives at Rand Enterprises are assholes, and working with you guys was okay last time. I'm in." 

Claire shifted in her seat, so close to Karen that Karen could feel the warmth of her along her right side. "Well, that was a lot easier than I expected," she said. 

"Me, too," said Karen, still a bit dazed. Apparently Foggy had been right—Matt wasn’t just an easy sell, they hardly had to sell him on it at all. "There'll be money in it, too, so. Don't worry about that." It was still worth mentioning, no matter how easily persuaded he was. 

He grinned. Karen hadn't decided yet whether that particular grin made him look hot or like a serial killer. "Oh," he said. "I'm not worried about that." He hummed for a moment to himself, fidgeting with his cane, and then asked, “So…have you talked to the rest of the gang, or…..” 

Claire laid out what Ben and Foggy had said, and Matt nodded, apparently to himself. “Yeah, okay. It makes sense that Ben and Doris would want to lay low. I’m gonna have to call Foggy and give him some shit, though. The hell’s he doing that’s so important?” 

“You have Foggy’s phone number?” asked Karen, surprised. 

Matt shrugged. “No, but I figure you can get it. Tech wizard and all.” He stood up and brushed imaginary dust off his pants. “So where are we going to talk to Elektra?” 

“You, ah, you want to come?” 

“Sure. And unless you _didn’t_ plant a GPS tracker on her phone like you did on mine, I’m guessing you already know where she is.” 

Karen felt herself flushing. It hadn’t seemed like a bad idea at the time, giving herself an easy way to keep track of a group of people who tended to conceal their activities, but in retrospect, maybe she should have just asked for contact info for them. She could have traced any communications she got from them pretty easily, anyway. “Matt….” 

“Whatever,” said Matt dismissively. “You are who you are. I didn’t take it personally.” His face hardened, and though Karen couldn’t see his eyes through the dark red lenses of his glasses, she got the impression that the look in them was cold. “Don’t do it again, though.” He dug around in his pocket and handed her her own phone. “Oh, here, before I forget.” Turning his head in Claire’s direction, he bid her a polite goodbye and then tapped his way over to the elevators. 

Claire and Karen sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Claire took a sip of her coffee and frowned at Karen. "Seriously? You put a GPS on his phone?" 

Karen cleared her throat. "Well. Maybe you haven't noticed, but he's actually not an easy person to track down at a moment's notice. Really, none of us are." 

"Did you put a tracker on _my_ phone?" Claire asked coolly, clearly unimpressed. 

Guilt warred with irritation. Surely Claire had known from the beginning who she was getting involved with. Karen rolled her eyes. "I didn't need GPS to find you," she said. "I just used Google." 

"That doesn't mean you didn't bug my phone." 

“It’s not a bug.” Technical definitions didn’t soften the expression on Claire’s face, and Karen could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. "Ugh, fine." She had still been holding her phone, from when Matt handed it to her—and Jesus, was pickpocketing people _always_ the guy's first solution whenever someone irritated him?—but she put it down. "Give me your phone." 

Claire raised an eyebrow at her, but handed the phone over, and Karen opened up the settings to disable the location signal she'd turned on, which sent her own phone a GPS ping from Claire's location. "There," she said, handing the phone back. "Tracker disabled. Are we okay now?" 

"Goddamn, Karen," said Claire, sounding tired more than angry. "You can't do shit like this, you know? This whole working together, team thing you're trying to set up? It doesn't work if you plant bugs on us without our knowledge. Not exactly trust-building, you know?" 

"It wasn't a bug," said Karen again, but there was no point explaining the difference now. "And it wasn't like—I wasn't spying on you or anything. I just thought—" Now that she had to put the thought into words, it didn't sound as convincing as it had when she'd first had the idea. "I don't know. I'm not a badass assassin like Elektra, but I did think it would be a good idea to have some way of—helping, I guess, if Fisk went after everyone. And if we ever wanted to get the band together again, like now—" 

"I got it," said Claire. "Next time you get the urge, though, ask. I know you want to help, and the hacker thing probably gives you a bit of a god complex or something, just...it's creepy. You get that, right?" 

Karen swallowed. "I get that." 

Claire nodded. "Okay, then." She let out a gust of air. "You know, you never did tell Matt where we were going to find Elektra. You didn't tell me, either." 

"London," said Karen absently. There was something stuck to the back side of her phone. When she picked the phone up, it turned out to be a post-it. Written on it in a messy, childlike scrawl that curved downward, drifting over the note, was an unfamiliar phone number and an ‘M.’ "And don't worry about Matt. We can just call him." She held up the post-it. 

"Huh," said Claire, entering the number in his phone. "A phone number. Seems awful normal for him." 

Karen laughed. 

They talked again that evening. Karen couldn’t find anything about the phone number Matt was using besides that it was assigned to an unused burner phone, much less where he was staying, but he met them at their gate at O’Hare punctually the next day, carrying a battered duffel bag and dressed again in his favorite old clothes. 

“Do you actually own anything that doesn’t look like you wore it to the gym?” Claire asked critically. 

“Sure,” said Matt. “But planes are terrible—anything I can do to make myself more comfortable is worth doing, for my sake and yours. Trust me,” he said with a wry twist to his mouth before taking what looked like a handful of Dramamine. 

He hadn’t been kidding. He puked three times in the first ten minutes after the plane started moving, and after the flight attendant had brought him a ginger ale and another barf bag, he curled down into himself, massaging his temples and muttering. To Karen’s ears, it sounded like a prayer at first, but on closer listen he was saying the same words over and over again: “The mind controls the body. The mind controls the body.” 

“I bet flying isn’t great on the super senses,” said Claire sympathetically. 

Matt shuddered as the flight hit a patch of turbulence, apparently keeping himself from vomiting again only by willpower. “No, not great,” he said through his teeth. 

When they landed, Karen and Claire left Matt to recover in the hotel room while they hunted down some dinner. Elektra would have to wait for the next morning; Karen was too tired to go through her pitch again. 

They found a Chinese buffet not too far from their hotel and settled in with dumplings and egg rolls, the food brightening their spirits. “You know,” Claire said, uncovering rice from a little pile of lo mein, “before the whole ‘rip off a corporation for millions of dollars’ thing, I’d never been out of the country before? And now look. Three countries in a week.” She chuckled to herself. 

“Me neither,” said Karen. “I mean. No, I traveled a lot before we met, but not when I was younger. Not before….” 

“Before you started making a living stealing money over the internet?” 

The wording rankled a little, but Claire didn’t sound super judgmental, and Karen supposed she really didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to the moral high ground. “Yeah,” she said, and shifted some broccoli and chicken around on her plate. 

She was half afraid that Claire would ask about what she’d done before then, who she’d been, but instead, Claire laughed and said, “I gotta say, you’re not a bad traveling companion. These hotels you’ve found us…amazing.” 

“Well.” Karen shrugged, pleased at the praise. “Research is one of my things.” 

Claire smiled. “Yeah. Fuck, this whole thing is so crazy. I can’t believe I’m—I’m _globetrotting_ to do this heist bullshit with you.” 

“Shh! Not so loud!” They’d gotten beers with dinner, and whether it was that or jetlag or the acoustics in the room or some combination thereof, Claire’s voice carried in the small restaurant. 

“Relax, Capone,” said Claire, laughing again. “I’m just saying…I don’t know, I guess that I _know_ this probably isn’t a good idea, but I’m glad we’re doing it anyway. I kind of missed you guys, you know?” 

She would have objected to the description of her plan as a bad idea, but something warm and soft was unfurling in Karen’s heart, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Really?” 

“What can I say? Shared near-death experiences have a weird way of giving you the warm and fuzzies about people. At least, they do for me.” 

“Me too,” said Karen softly, but she wasn’t sure Claire heard her, focused as she was on grasping a clump of rice and sweet-and-sour pork with her chopsticks. Claire had very graceful hands, Karen noted. Confident. Smooth. 

The next morning, both Claire and Matt were groggy messes—to go with his above-average motion sickness, Matt apparently also had above-average jetlag, and Claire was a little hung over—but Karen was eager to get started. They grabbed large coffees and English breakfasts at a little café at the corner of Russell Square. Well, Karen and Claire grabbed English breakfasts, at any rate. Matt contented himself with just stewed tomatoes and toast. 

“You a vegetarian?” asked Claire, who was putting away food at an impressive clip for someone who’d been groaning like the living dead half an hour ago. 

Matt made a face. “Nope. Just can’t stomach the idea of that much grease right now.” 

“More for me, then,” said Claire with a shrug. She ate another sausage, and Matt winced and rubbed at his face. 

There was something kind of cozy about the whole thing, thought Karen. She hoped they could get Elektra and Foggy and Ben onboard, and she hoped that they would have more moments like this, downtime in between jobs where they could just sit and talk. It wasn’t the point of the whole venture, but it might be…nice. 

After breakfast they walked the short trek to the British Museum, where Karen’s latest scan of security footage in the city had told her that Elektra was. It was a big museum, though, and it was almost half an hour before they found her in front of a collection of Anglo-Saxon burial treasures, contemplating an imposing-looking helmet. As always, she was perfectly put-together, looking sophisticated in a simple outfit of black pants and grey turtleneck that Karen would have been willing to bet had a price tag in the four- to five-digit range. 

It was...weird, really, how perfect she looked there. She stood out among the students and families of tourists and bored security guards without seeming at all out of place, like somehow she belonged there among these old treasures more than they did. It was kind of crazy, how someone so dangerous could be so beautiful. 

Of course, Matt wasn’t particularly interested in studying Elektra’s expression as she looked at a helmet, and so he interrupted Karen’s reverie to say, “Hi, Elektra.” 

Elektra’s expression when she turned wasn’t surprised, but almost…skeptical, maybe. “Matthew,” she said coolly. Her gaze slid to Karen and Claire, and she said, “Ah. I see it’s a whole party, then.” 

“Hi, Elektra,” Karen repeated. “You mind if we find someplace quieter to talk? We have a proposition to make.” 

“Now this I’ve got to hear,” said Elektra, sounding a lot less enthused than the words would have suggested. She darted a quick look over at the security guard, and Karen thought she understood. 

“We’re not here to interfere if you’re on a job,” she began in a soft voice, but Elektra gave her an incredulous glare. 

“At this time in the morning? Surrounded by people? I think not. And I certainly hope _you’re_ not here on a job.” 

Claire rolled her eyes. “We’re not, but maybe this is a conversation we _shouldn’t_ have standing ten feet away from a security guard.” 

“You know,” said Matt thoughtfully, “this time in the morning isn’t actually a bad time for a job, if you can use the crowd for cover.” Maybe he couldn’t see Karen and Claire glaring at him, but he seemed to sense it, because he shrugged and said, “Just spitballing.” 

Elektra raised an eyebrow. “I see some people don’t change,” she said. “Come with me, I know a place to talk.” 

She led them to a gallery that looked like some old guy’s study, lined with wooden shelves and busts. There were only a few tourists in there, and no guards—clearly, it wasn’t a popular part of the museum, at least at this time of day. Claire took a look around and said to Elektra, “So, are you just on vacation, or what?” 

Elektra took in the room with a proprietary glance, as if surveying her territory. Apparently satisfied with it, she gave Claire an arch smile. “Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not a machine, I enjoy taking in a bit of beauty as much as the next person.” 

“Hey, no judgment,” said Claire. “God knows I did some of that with _my_ share from the last job, too.” 

Matt tilted his head and smiled at her. “Yeah? Where’d you go?” 

“Did a cruise in the Mediterranean, did some hiking in South America, finally went to Canada,” Claire said casually. “That was pretty cool.” 

“Literally,” said Matt, and Elektra made a frustrated noise. 

“Honestly. Have you all come just to waste my time, or did you need my help?” 

Karen laid out her plan again—it was getting easier every time—and Elektra made a contemplative noise, looking mildly troubled. 

“That seems—foolish, to me. We worked together once, under pressure. Who is to say we could do it again? Who is to say we would want to? Working alone has proved _very_ profitable to me, and with much less trouble than having to deal with others.” 

“The idea is, we could profit and do some good,” Karen said, and Elektra scoffed. 

“Don’t be naïve. I’m a…a fighter, you two steal. We can profit by those skills, certainly, but to do good? Do good for whom? Good by whose definition? And I don’t know what makes you think the two can be combined so easily as you say.” 

“Kind of leaving me out of the calculation,” Claire said mildly, and Elektra gave her a scornful look. 

“You’re a nurse. This isn’t your world at all, and if I were you, I’d go home, enjoy my money, and stay out of this kind of affair.” 

Claire looked tired, like maybe she agreed with Elektra, and Karen felt a spike of anger. Who the hell was Elektra to step on Claire’s fire, her desire to be part of something bigger than her? Who the hell was she to shit all over an idea Karen had been working on for months? But before she could snap something to that effect, Matt laughed. “No, you wouldn’t.” 

It was so unexpected that the three women turned to stare at him. “What?” asked Elektra in forbidding tones. 

“You wouldn’t go home and enjoy your money if you were Claire,” said Matt with a crooked smile. “You’d be bored. You’re bored _now_.” 

If looks could kill, Matt would be a smoldering crater in the floor. “And who are you to tell me how I feel?” 

He shrugged. “Your heart jumped when you saw us. Not fear—that smells different, and besides, what could we do to you? Maybe surprised, but you know what I think?” 

“I’m sure you’ll tell me, whether I want you to or not,” said Elektra drily. 

“I think you were glad to see us. Because I’m sure you can walk around art museums with the best of them, but long-term, I can’t imagine you’re not looking for something bigger. And we can give you that.” 

Elektra narrowed her eyes, and Karen was ready to jump in, to smooth things over and ask Matt what the fuck he’d been thinking, but Claire reached out a hand to stop her, grasping Karen’s arm and squeezing gently. 

After a moment of incongruously innocent-sounding museum background noise—children squabbling, the squeaks of shoes on the floor—Elektra’s mouth curved down and she said, “You’re very sure of yourself.” 

“My line of work,” said Matt, “you kind of get used to leaping before you look.” He grinned briefly at his own joke before asking, “Was I wrong?” 

“I don’t work for free.” She shifted her gaze to Karen and Claire. “I’ll need more specifics about the job before I can tell you my price, but I’m not a charity. And I want input in the planning of any part of the job I’m involved in.” 

Karen blinked, taken aback. “Oh, um, of course. I’m not the boss or anything here, we’d all be working together.” 

“Right. Teamwork. Lovely.” Elektra’s raised eyebrows made it clear how much faith she put in that particular concept, but she cast one last gaze around the gallery before straightening up and saying, “Can’t you do something about the security footage, Pagemaster? I _was_ contemplating a bit of retrieval for a private collector—it wasn’t a good job, but I did do a bit of preliminary explorations I’d rather not have around on tape.” 

_Tape_. Honestly, like it was 1996 or something. “Please,” she said. “Already done.” 

Elektra’s hotel was even swankier than the one Karen, Claire, and Matt were staying in, and they got some odd looks as they trailed her back through the lobby. “Jesus,” said Claire as they made their way to the elevator. “I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.” 

“That movie ended pretty well for her, as I recall,” said Matt, cheerfully ignoring the looks he was getting from a wealthy-looking couple waiting in the elevator bank. Being blind had its benefits, apparently. 

Elektra sniffed. “If the three of you would make some effort to dress decently, this wouldn’t be a problem. It’s not as if you can’t afford it.” 

Karen smoothed her hands down the skirt of her dress. She’d actually thought she _was_ dressed pretty nicely. It certainly hadn’t been a problem at the museum. 

Once they reached Elektra’s room, they ordered room service for lunch and she poured them all cocktails from the room’s extensive minibar. She seemed to have a sixth sense for how they liked their drinks—Karen’s cosmo actually tasted like it was made with fruit juice, not cough syrup, and Matt sniffed appreciatively at his whiskey before taking a sip. 

“I should tell you to hold on to your money,” he said. “I know how much these hotel minibars charge. But frankly, I’m enjoying this whiskey too much.” 

“Honestly, Matthew,” said Elektra. “Anyone would _think_ you were getting by on a salary. Are you telling me you’ve never stolen something from a hotel?” 

Matt grinned. “No,” he said. “I’m not telling you that.” 

“You guys take this shit for granted,” Claire said, settling in on the couch with her own Bloody Mary. “Me? I’m used to getting cheap hotels on Travelocity. I’m planning on _enjoying_ this.” 

“I don’t think money’s going to be a worry for you ever again.” Karen sat next to her on the couch, pulling her second-favorite laptop out of its bag. “It’s, what, almost 8:00 in Singapore? Let’s give Foggy a call.” 

To Foggy’s credit, the only sign of surprise he showed at seeing them all crowded around Karen’s screen was a slight lift of his eyebrows. “Well, well, well! If it isn’t the whole crew.” 

“Still missing our flim-flam man,” said Matt. “What’s keeping you?” 

“’Flim-flam man’? How many drinks have you had?” He peered at his phone screen as if to see what Matt was drinking. 

“He’s on his first, the colossal lightweight,” Elektra said impatiently. “Our room service is supposed to arrive in ten minutes, so let’s make this quick. Are you or are you not interested in Karen’s do-gooding Robin Hood thing?” 

Karen frowned. “I think you’re simplifying it a little,” she said, but Elektra waved aside her objections. 

“Whatever. The point is, if you’re not interested in joining us, we may as well go to Paris for Ben and Doris now rather than waste our time talking to you.” 

“Nice chatting with you again, too, Elektra,” said Foggy drily. “I have to say, I’m a little surprised they managed to get you to agree to this thing.” 

Karen considered pointing out that they had used Foggy’s strategy to convince her, but Elektra didn’t seem the type to appreciate being talked about like that, like someone to be won over by Foggy’s methods of pushing buttons. Elektra, meanwhile, made a casual gesture that encompassed Karen, Claire, and Matt. “It wasn’t as if I had anything more important going on. And I’d just as soon these three not get into trouble, which they would if they were to stumble around on their own.” 

“I resent that remark,” Claire interjected. 

“They have information on me I’d rather not let my enemies get ahold of,” Elektra continued as if Claire hadn’t spoken. “Especially Computer Girl here.” She gestured at Karen, who bristled, irritated. 

“Hey,” said Matt mildly, “I don’t think any of us here is a snitch, and we were doing fine without you. That being said….” He turned back to—well, not quite back to the screen, but close enough, his face aimed roughly at the laptop’s speakers. “We could probably use someone who can do that—that thing you do, Foggy.” 

“That thing?” asked Foggy, amused. 

“That thing where you make people like you,” said Matt. “I don’t think we can do this corporate espionage thing without that. Or knowing how businesses work.” 

“I know how businesses work,” Karen pointed out. “Kind of.” 

“I do, too,” said Elektra. “I just don’t care.” 

“I, uh.” Claire shrugged helplessly. “I got nothing.” 

“So you see the problem,” said Matt. “We could use your skills. And even if this gig isn’t as profitable as whatever you have cooking over there…I mean, how much money does one man really need? Think about what the average yearly income is worldwide—how much richer than filthy rich do you actually need to be?” 

“You literally steal valuable things for money, Mother Theresa,” said Foggy. He huffed out a breath that was half sigh, half laugh. “Okay. Okay, I’m actually just about wrapped up on this job. I take it you guys are headed back to Paris to take another crack at Ben?” 

“That’s the plan,” said Karen, hope rising warm and excited in her chest. With Foggy onboard, that would make the whole team, minus Ben. 

“Right.” Foggy nodded to himself. “Meet you guys there the day after tomorrow. Karen, you’ve got my number. And now, I’ve got your….” He frowned. “What is this, your FaceTime ID or something?” 

Karen smiled. “Second-favorite laptop, third-favorite e-mail account.” 

“Right,” said Foggy with a little half-smile. “Catch you in Paris.” 

If Paris the last time had been stressful and strange for Karen, waiting around trying to build up the nerve to go talk to Ben, Paris this time was…well, it was weirdly like a family trip when she was a child, full of arguments that sprang up and died down quickly, with the security that came from traveling with a group, though it didn’t pay to think about the comparison too closely. Elektra and Matt made their own plans as far as lodging went, Elektra staying in a fashionable hotel that was too high-profile for Karen’s tastes and Matt staying God knew where, so Claire and Karen split a suite again, in a nice hotel by the Eiffel Tower with a free breakfast buffet. 

That was where Foggy showed up the morning after they arrived. “Is that chocolate croissant as good as it looks?” 

Claire choked on the aforementioned croissant, coughing loudly, and Karen’s hand went to the gun in her purse before she saw who it was and she relaxed. It made her uncomfortable, not having seen him coming. 

Foggy smiled, somewhere between conciliatory and smug. “Sorry to startle you. But not that sorry—consider it payback for the shock you two gave me in Singapore.” 

“Jesus, since when is sneaking around your thing?” Claire took a sip of water, glaring at Foggy. “You taking cat burglar lessons from Matt?” 

“Ha, can you imagine?” Foggy reached down and grabbed the uneaten portion of Claire’s croissant, popping it into his mouth. After following it up with a sip of Karen’s coffee, he said, “Speaking of. Seems like you had two more people in your party.” 

“Yeah, lemme—” Karen reached into her purse to dial Elektra’s number, surprised when a phone not twenty feet away from her rang. 

Elektra and Matt appeared at the door of the breakfast room, then strode over to Karen and Claire’s table. “Speak of the Devil,” said Foggy. 

“Matthew and I are exchanging notes on tailing people,” Elektra informed him. “You, by the way, are _embarrassingly_ easy to track.” 

“Well, I wasn’t exactly trying to cover my footsteps here,” said Foggy. “We were supposed to meet today, after all.” He looked her and Matt up and down. “You guys look good. You taking care of yourselves?” 

“Always do,” said Matt. 

“Good deal.” Foggy sat down at Karen and Claire’s table, and after a moment’s hesitation, Elektra and Matt followed suite. “So. Ben and Doris doing a sort of second honeymoon here?” 

It was pretty romantic, when you put it that way. The sort of thing a person might feel bad for interrupting. “I guess,” said Karen. 

“How’s Mrs. Urich doing?” asked Matt. 

Karen shrugged. “They have a local nurse who comes in, but I think Doris is doing a lot better than she was in New York.” 

“She is,” said Claire, and everyone turned to look at her. “What? Ben and Doris and I go way back, remember—they had some questions about what to look for when it came to home care when they moved over here, and we talk every now and then.” 

“You never said anything,” said Karen, feeling…not _betrayed_ , exactly, but maybe a little hurt that, after all the planning and traveling together they’d done in the last week, Claire hadn’t thought to mention that Ben talked to her, Ben would listen to her. 

“What did you want me to say?” Claire asked. “It’s not like I think Ben’s gonna pack up here and join Robin Hood and the Merry Men on _my_ say-so.” 

“Well, then what are we doing?” Elektra slapped a hand on the table, making the plates—and Karen—jump. “If he won’t listen to you, why would he listen to the rest of us?” 

Foggy reached out to pat her hand comfortingly. When she glared daggers at him, he pulled his hand back—quickly, but in a smooth way that made it look like that’s what he’d meant to do the whole time. “I was under the impression,” he said, “that the plan was to show a united front. To demonstrate that if 

Ben _were_ to join, it wouldn’t be some kind of backstabbing free-for-all, or some kind of half-assed amateur thing, but a bunch of professionals working together toward a common goal. That was the plan, right?” 

“A common goal,” Matt repeated softly, fiddling with a fork. “You know, you have a different tone when you’re trying to persuade people to do things. Kind of a higher, flatter sound. It’s pleasant, but different from when you’re just talking.” 

“Okay. Good to know, buddy, but let’s try and stay on topic,” said Foggy, his conman’s joviality wearing a little thin. 

“No, you’re right,” said Karen. If they couldn’t keep it together over something stupid like Claire being in contact with Ben the whole time—which was the kind of thing normal people _did_ when their friends moved away—they didn’t have much hope for keeping it together on the job. “Absolutely. It’s not about any one of us, it’s about the team.” 

“Hmm.” Elektra grabbed the fork from Matt’s hands and tapped on the table with it. “If it’s about the team, let’s go and get our last member.” 

They made quite a cluster, tripping down the sidewalks of Le Marais together. Elektra, who’d evidently spent a lot of time in Paris, led the group confidently through the crowds of people, pointing out good restaurants and places she’d broken into and stolen things from with equal casualness. 

They reached Ben’s building, and, hardly able to restrain her smile, Karen pressed the buzzer. 

“Bonjour?” Ben’s voice said. 

“Hi again!” said Karen. “I’m back, and I brought some friends.” 

Claire pushed up to the speaker. “Hey, Ben.” She grinned at Karen, a bright and mischievous smile that made Karen feel instantly better, and she’d already been feeling pretty good. 

“Claire?” asked Ben. After a second, he said, “No. You’re kidding me. You got the whole crew down there?” 

“In the flesh!” said Foggy cheerfully. 

Elektra cast a quick glance around. Across the street, a couple walking their dog looked at the little group with mild curiosity. “Are you going to make us stand out here all day? It’s very conspicuous.” 

Ben’s sigh crackled through the aged speaker. “No, I’m not. Come in, I guess.” The gate buzzed open, and the team—Karen’s team—went through. 

This time, Doris opened the door, looking from one of them to the other with a dryly amused expression “Well! Nice to see everybody again. Why don’t you all come in and sit down?” 

“Thanks, Mrs. Urich,” said Matt, trailing his hand along the wall as they squeezed themselves into the tiny entryway, the living room open in front of them. No coffee and pastries this time, but the room otherwise looked as impersonally cozy as it had the last time Karen had been there—less than two weeks ago, though it felt like much longer. 

“Matt, honey, you need help getting to a seat?” asked Doris. Karen was afraid Matt would take offense, but he just shook his head. 

“I’ve got my cane, I should be okay.” 

“Ugh.” Ben shook his head. “We don’t have enough room on the couch for all of you. Let me get the kitchen chairs out.” 

Karen perked up. “I’ll help,” she said, grabbing a couple of the delicate-looking chairs and setting them up around the little sitting area. Matt tapped one of them with his cane before plopping himself down into it. 

“Nice place,” Foggy remarked, easing himself onto the couch next to Claire and Doris. 

Elektra looked like she might have something to say in response to Foggy’s comment, raising her eyebrow, but instead she said, “I suppose you’ve done all right for yourselves here. Nothing from our friend Fisk?” 

Ben made a face, settling into an armchair across from the sofa. “Nope. I got a friend back at the Bulletin who gives me legal updates about Wesley and Confederated Global—surprise surprise, the company got off with a fine and Wesley pleaded most of the charges down. He’ll be out in a year, and Wilson Goddamned Fisk’s hands are squeaky clean.” 

Karen felt confident that every single person in the room had kept up with the story, looking over their shoulders for hitmen or businessmen with suspicious offers, but nobody said anything—no smirks or snide remarks met this announcement of Ben’s. Something simultaneously cold and hot, part fear and part rage, ran down Karen’s spine, and she shook the feeling off. They were fine. They were all fine. They could handle anything Fisk threw their way, and more. 

“That’s exactly the kind of injustice we could fight if we worked together,” she said. “People like that buy their way out of consequences all the time—but we could stop it.” 

Ben gave her a skeptical look. “Isn’t ‘buying your way out of consequences’ more or less what you do?” 

Karen straightened up. “What I do isn’t the same,” she insisted, pissed that she was already on the defensive. “You know it isn’t.” 

“Come on, Ben,” said Claire. “She’s right, there’s a difference between—between breaking and entering or whatever and kicking people out of hospitals and hiring hitmen.” 

Elektra raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips in an expression of distaste. “Well. There are hitmen and there are hitmen. Mr. Wesley’s were what I would call pathetic.” 

“Yeah, not actually the main problem with them,” said Claire, shooting a sideways look at her. 

“Putting aside the whole ‘fighting the man’ thing,” Foggy put in, “there really is something to be said for safety in numbers—you said it yourself, Ben, Wesley’s gonna be out in a year, and Wilson Fisk seems like the kind to hold a grudge. You’ve got a really good background in this kind of stuff, but from what I understand, your experience with the criminal underworld is a little less, shall we say, hands-on. Can’t speak for anyone else, but I can tell you that working with a team has saved my ass before.” 

“Yeah, Foggy, but I’m not working with a team,” said Ben. “I’m not working at all. And you’ll forgive me if I don’t think jumping back into ripping off corporations is the best way to keep my family safe.” 

_Family_. Karen snuck a glance at Claire’s face, wondering if the reminder of her mother would give her pause. Nothing changed about Claire’s expression, though—she still just looked frustrated. 

Karen couldn’t blame her. “Since when is safety your number one priority? It wasn’t when you were reporting on the mob families, or corruption on the city council. Fighting for the little guy, uncovering the truth—that’s what your whole _career_ has been!” 

“Being a reporter isn’t the same as being a criminal,” said Ben implacably. “Access to information is one of the only things that makes a functioning democracy possible. Stealing people’s credit card numbers isn’t a matter of principle, and you can’t tell me that you guys would be doing this out of a sense of duty.” 

“I told you this was a stupid idea,” Elektra said. Matt frowned. 

“Mr. Urich, I’m not sure you’ve known any of us long enough to tell us what principles we do and don’t have. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, ‘All stealing is comparative. If you come to absolutes, pray who does not steal?’ It’s an exercise of power, and people with power can steal a lot more than those without it, regardless of legal definitions. Karen’s idea—which I think is actually a really good one—is to use the way _we_ steal against the ways corporations and lobbyists and, and corrupt politicians steal. The system can’t stop them, so we do.” 

By the end of this little speech, everyone but Foggy had turned to stare at Matt—Foggy was shaking his head, smiling. It was probably the most he’d ever said to any of them in one fell swoop. And Emerson? Maybe Foggy hadn’t been kidding about being friends with him on Goodreads. And Matt thought that Karen had a good idea. She sat up straighter, determination overtaking her frustration. 

“Yeah, okay, Matt,” said Ben finally. “You’ve got your own reasons for doing things. I respect that. But you—all of you—have to respect _my_ reasons. This isn’t a soup kitchen you’re asking me to volunteer at, or a protest you want me to help organize—this is six people, four of them career criminals, going up against a multimillion-dollar corporation, and—” 

“Seven.” 

All eyes turned to Doris, who was giving Ben an unimpressed look. “Ben, honey, I’m counting seven people in this room. Or were you just gonna leave me in the lobby?” 

“Doris, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Ben reached for her hand, and she let him take it. “It wouldn’t just be me affected by this, I know that, and that’s the reason I can’t do it. You and me, we’re finally living the good life, and I’ve got no intention of fucking it up for us.” 

"And you're not even going to ask what I want?" 

Ben blinked. Karen did, too—she liked Doris, knew Doris liked her well enough, thought Doris had handled the revelation about just what Karen did for a living with amazing calm—but she couldn't say she'd expected Doris to step into this argument on her side. "What are you saying?" Ben asked. 

Doris pulled her hand from Ben’s and gripped his arm. "Come on, now. You know perfectly well you can't sit around Paris eating pastries and checking out Hemingway's favorite places forever. This has been amazing, Ben—the honeymoon you and me always wanted, and I'm so glad we got to do it. But you need something do, something to fight for. The Ben Urich I married always had something cooking, some story or cause or what have you, and I can tell, you’re not _happy_ without that. And you know what? I need something to do with myself, too. I'm not 100%, I know that, but I'm better than I have been in a long time. We sit around like this too much longer, I'm liable to get a little bored." 

"Jesus, Doris, we'll take a cruise or something! Take some classes, work for a nonprofit, we don't have to start taking down multinational corporations!" 

Doris's mouth tightened and she fixed her husband with a hard look. "Back in '86. When you were covering that drug cartel, and I told you you might want to back off. Did you say, 'Yeah, Doris, good idea, local politics is important, too?'" 

Ben swallowed. "No, but that was different." 

"Oh, yeah? Guess it was different when you got in with organized crime, too, to put out all those exposés. It was probably also different when you sweet-talked me into giving you all that information about where money for medical equipment at my hospital was going, and I lost my job." Ben opened his mouth to say something, and Doris cut him off. "I ain't looking for an apology, Ben, but it would be awful nice if you could admit that you've done some wild shit in the name of chasing a story and fighting the man, taken a lot of risks, and maybe you're not the only one in this room who can decide whether those risks are worth it." She slid her hand down his arm so that once again they were holding hands. 

"I never thought that, baby." Ben squeezed her hand, and Karen suddenly got the sense that she was intruding on something intimate and old, the way she'd felt sometimes when she overheard her parents talking. "But we're not young anymore. The kind of risks you take when you're 25 aren't the same risks you take when you're 65." 

"You still got some stories in you, Ben Urich," said Doris implacably. "And my story's not done, either. Been a long damn time since I've gotten to do something useful with myself. I think it's time." 

Never one to be put off by the prospect of rudeness, Elektra said, "What exactly would you be doing? And we're not splitting the take again. You and Ben would have to share." 

Matt flicked a crumpled-up receipt at her. "Don't be rude. It's not about the money, anyway." 

"Yeah, maybe for you it's not," said Foggy. "But no, Doris, there are a lot of organizational matters we could use your help with. Especially given that Karen's apparently set up a company for us—with all our fake IDs plus the documentation for the corporation, there's plenty to do there. And cons can get pretty complicated, it's always nice to have a helping hand to keep the moving parts straight." 

"Well, you know what, Foggy," said Doris, turning away from Ben without letting go of his hand, "I happen to have a fair amount of experience keeping moving parts straight, in non-profits and such. Karen, honey, why don't you explain a little about how you've set up this company? You didn't give us many details last time." 

Ben sighed. “Doris. We do this, we’re giving up on pretty much any chance of a quiet retirement. Everything you and I built in our lives—that can all go away, if we get on the wrong side of this.” 

“Ben.” She turned back to him. “Everything you and I built in our lives was built on the idea that if there’s bad things happening in the world, you do something. You say something. No matter how stupid it seems or how big the problem is. And you and I both know ‘legal’ and ‘right’ aren’t the same thing—hell, sometimes, they ain’t in the same ballpark.” 

Karen swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat. She hadn’t known until Doris had spoken how much it would mean to her to hear something like that from—from a _normal_ person, someone who didn’t break into bank vaults for fun or run parking meter scams for spare cash. 

Claire, who’d been pretty quiet up until then, shifted in her seat and said, “Guys, we don’t even have a plan yet for Rand Enterprises, much less any other…jobs. Agreeing to this one isn’t agreeing to every job someone wants to pull—and I want all of you to understand that.” She turned to Karen, Foggy, Matt, and Elektra. “I’m not getting involved in anything that’s just to line any of your pockets. We’re not killing people, or ripping off bystanders, or any of that shit—you do any of that while we’re working together, I’m out. Anyone can walk away at any time, but nobody’s getting the others involved in something they didn’t agree to. Are we clear?” 

“Aren’t we bossy,” said Elektra, stretching like a cat. “I don’t recall anyone electing you the leader of this little enterprise.” 

“ _Elektra_ ,” Karen snapped. “We’re all working together, remember? You’re the one who wanted input on any part of the job you were involved with. Same goes for everyone—that’s totally fair.” She looked at Claire, hoping her face got her sincerity across. “That’s totally fair,” she repeated. “We don’t go behind each other’s backs on jobs, and we should all agree on what jobs we take together.” 

“Good,” said Claire, giving Karen a quick smile. 

“Sounds good to me, too,” said Foggy. “Matt?” 

Matt scratched at his chin, smiling faintly. “I like the sound of it. Whether it’ll work or not remains to be seen, but at least in principle, I like it.” 

“I like it, too,” said Doris, and she sent Ben a challenging look. 

Ben shook his head, his face tilted downward. “God _damn_ ,” he said under his breath. Looking up, he looked around the room before saying, “All right. I’ll do it, if only to keep you clowns from getting Claire and Doris into trouble.” He fixed his gaze on Karen. “I’ve done a little digging into Rand Enterprises myself, and I can think of a couple of sketchy things we could be exposing here, but this whole thing was your bright idea, Karen. What’s all this about a company you set up? 

Karen grinned, buoyant. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

*** 

“Counterweight Incorporated, huh?” Ben tapped on the doorplate, which Karen hadn’t gotten around to putting up yet, with an amused curl of a grin. “Not too on the nose?” 

“No sense beating around the bush,” Karen replied. 

Foggy laughed. “Too bad you didn’t go for ‘Robin Hood and Her Merry Men. It’s a good location, though.” 

When setting up Counterweight, Karen’s plan had been to hide in plain sight: the building was in the heart of Midtown, but not one of the landmarks, and the building didn’t have any popular restaurants or art to attract tourists, just a bunch of nondescript offices filled with accountants and mid-level executives for companies that never made the news. The landlords were a Taiwanese real estate firm who wouldn’t bother them as long as the rent was paid on time, and Karen had set up auto-payments to ensure that, no matter what job they were on, that wouldn’t be a problem. 

“All the business paperwork’s filed,” she explained to everyone. “I’ve set up tax records for us for the last ten years, and separate paperwork for all of us individually. I really, ah. I really want this to be a place where clients can meet us, so they’ll feel like they’re talking to someone who can legitimately help them.” 

“Whether that’s true or not,” Elektra remarked. Karen frowned at her, piqued, but she waved a dismissive hand. “It’s psychological, I understand that. Presenting a professional front. Continue.” 

“ _Anyway_ ,” said Karen. “I have offices for all of you. I didn’t do too much by way of furniture, you know, so you could pick what you wanted, but we have an expense account for that, so whenever you want, we can get more stuff. Matt, we’re gonna have to talk about what you need, because I really didn’t know what you wanted as far as Braille printers and stuff.” 

Matt blinked. “Yeah? You can drop a lot of money on that kind of equipment. Did you buy all the furniture in here with your cut of the last take?” 

Karen shrugged. Money hadn’t been something she worried about in a long time, not since she’d discovered that behind a keyboard, she could have power over the richest of CEOs. 

“She just shrugged,” said Foggy to Matt, and Karen could feel herself blush. 

“I figured,” said Matt. He wandered to the edge of the room, running a hand over the back of the couch Karen had picked out. Frowning to himself, he settled into the couch like he expected it to blow up under his weight. 

Ben had drifted over to the window, but now he turned around and gave Karen a dry little smile. “I’m impressed,” he said. “This is a hell of a lot nicer than any of the newspaper offices I ever worked in. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to explain to my friends what I’m doing working for a ‘consulting’ firm, though.” 

“Tell them it’s a nonprofit for, like, corporate accountability or something,” Claire suggested, sitting on the couch next to Matt. “They’d probably buy that, and it’s close enough to the truth. I think that’s what I’m telling people.” 

“A nonprofit, huh?” Foggy asked. “I hope you all know that I’m not sticking around if there aren’t any profits.” He found a chair to sit in and rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. 

“There’re going to be profits.” Karen rolled her eyes, but kept her voice calm. Of all of them, Foggy probably had the most experience dealing with high-powered companies, at least from the inside, and he had an eye for detail. If he approved of Karen’s offices, they’d probably pass the smell test with clients and (ideally) the authorities. “So, Foggy, what do you think?” 

Foggy raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask. “Not bad,” he said, looking around. "It’s got that 'cutting-edge tech meets old-timey librarian' thing going on—very nice. I'd switch out these chairs, though." He tapped at the arm of his. “They look classy, but not inviting, and they're not comfortable. If people are gonna be coming to us talking about how the Man screwed them over, probably telling us some really personal shit, you want this place to be their safe haven, not just some other rich corporate thing. God, look, Matt can't even sit still in his, that's the third time he's shifted position in the last two minutes.” 

Matt froze at the sound of his name, giving them all that deer-in-the-headlights look that Karen was starting to interpret as “Oh, shit, people can actually see me.” 

“Relax, dude,” Foggy told him. “I have a sneaking suspicion nobody’s going to make you deal with clients or marks, anyway.” 

Matt smiled ruefully. “I guess social skills aren’t really what people come to me for.” 

“I don’t know,” said Claire. “The chairs feel okay to me. But then, I don’t have super senses and I’m not a con artist.” She shrugged. “I guess I’m here for the food.” 

“ _And_ the planning,” Karen reminded her. “Speaking of! We haven’t gotten to the best part yet.” 

Doris, who’d settled in a chair and was looking tired, blinked at her. “Karen, if we’re going to do a lot more walking, I think you’re gonna have to count me out.” 

Ben was instantly at her side. “You feeling okay? Dizzy, disoriented at all?” 

She waved him aside with an irritable hand. “I’m fine. Little jetlagged, though, and I didn’t sleep so well at the hotel last night.” 

“This has all been a pretty big interruption of your routine, and that can be rough on sleep patterns.” said Claire. “You drink coffee this morning?” At Doris’s nod, she said, “You might want to cut back on the caffeine a little until you guys have settled in. Assuming you’re staying.” She looked unsure at this last part, and it unsettled Karen, like after all the effort she’d gone through, the group could just fall apart again before they’d even begun. 

“There’s not going to be more walking, Doris,” she said, trying to sound confident and cheerful. “We’re just headed the next room over. And I stocked the kitchenette in the lounge with a lot of herbal tea, so after we’ve seen the briefing room, I can make you something.” 

Doris reached out to grasp Karen’s hand, her own hand dry and warm and thin. “That sounds great, thank you.” She squeezed once before letting go. Karen’s eyes met Ben’s, then. They were—heavy was the only word she could think of to describe them, or his expression as he looked at her. _Be careful with her_ , she thought he would have been saying if they’d been talking out loud. _If anything happens to her, all bets are off._

She smiled reassuringly— _I know, she’ll be fine _—and turned to the rest of the group. “If you’ll just follow me down the hall….”__

__Elektra, who’d been watching the exchange between Ben, Karen, and Doris with sharp eyes, flicked aside a stray piece of hair and said, “I can only imagine what you would consider to be the best part of this—this pantomime.”_ _

__Karen chose to ignore that, instead going over the important facts in her head to introduce them to her baby. This had been the single most expensive and time-consuming part of setting up Counterweight, but also the part that had most interested her, a true labor of love._ _

__“This is our information center,” she said as they filed in to the room at the end of the hall. They all looked around to take in the room’s contents, the gleaming wooden conference table subtly furnished with multiple places to plug in electronic equipment, the large cabinets that held her high-processing mainframes, and of course the screens that lined the back wall of the room. Even Matt seemed to be more focused than usual, tilting his head like a bird as if to listen to everything around him in the room._ _

__Karen smiled, seeing impressed expressions on Claire’s face, Ben’s, Foggy’s. “The computers run heuristic crawls 24-7, looking for problems that people like us can solve. I’ve got backdoors set up in the CIA, NSA, FBI, and Interpol databases, with facial recognition and forensic computer and accounting data to cross-reference with local law enforcement. I’ve also got backdoors into most major banks—anything that’s all or mostly electronic—and we should be able to keep a very close eye on the stock market from here.”_ _

__Foggy whistled. “Jesus. Next time I have problems with my printer, I guess I know the lady to call.”_ _

__Claire shook her head, apparently in disbelief. “Karen, this is amazing. I mean, we’re probably breaking a shitload of laws just standing here, but still…amazing.”_ _

__Elektra was smiling. Not smirking, not that sharp, dangerous thing that made Karen feel shivery and like she was on unsteady ground, but genuinely smiling, bright and happy. “I love this,” she said simply._ _

__Ben helped Doris into a chair and sat next to her. “Well,” he said, “can’t say you didn’t do your homework on this one. If you’re looking to take down big fish, this kind of set-up will get you a long way there. Don’t think we’re not still going to have to do some foot-to-the-pavement recon, though.”_ _

__“I know,” said Karen. She could understand a compliment when it was given to her._ _

__“Matt, why don’t you sit here next to me?” Doris asked. “Couple steps in front of you and a little to the right. The room’s full of screens, computers and such. Not much use to you, I’m betting.”_ _

__“Not much,” said Matt, sliding into a seat on Doris’s other side. Karen guessed that Doris still didn’t know about his senses. She refused to feel bad—it wasn’t her fault she could see, or that screens were a big part of the work she’d devoted her life to. As if he’d read her mind, Matt gave her an ironic quirk of a smile, his eyes barely visible over his glasses. “I do like the idea of a central information hub, though,” he said. “And if I can get everyone to send me information in text files or at least describe what’s on the screen, I think I’ll get along fine.” He pulled a phone—hopefully his own, because if he’d stolen Karen’s again she was going to kill him—out of his pocket and wiggled it. “Pictures are a no-go, but my phone reads most plain text formats just fine.”_ _

__“Well, if I’m gonna be handling some of the clerical end of this operation,” Doris said, “you and me are gonna have to sit down and talk specifics about what you need, fonts and formats and the like, but I can’t imagine that would be a problem.”_ _

__“Sounds good, Mrs. Urich,” said Matt. “Thank you. Speaking of clerical things, is there anything _you’re_ going to need? In terms of comfortable chairs, computer equipment, anything like that?” _ _

__“As far as chairs go, I think nothing’s better for my back than just getting up and walking a little every now and then. But let me think about that. There might be a shopping trip in our future, young man.”_ _

__“Now _that_ would be something to see,” said Elektra, her earlier eagerness apparently worn off. “So—Rand Enterprises? I know the name, it was quite a big deal when the elder Rand and his wife disappeared, but I don’t know exactly what the goal is. Do we want to steal money from them, gather blackmail material, or just annoy them into seeing the error of their ways and being good little boys and girls? I suspect that last might wind up being something of a specialty for this group.” _ _

__Before Karen could answer, Ben stood up. “You know what, folks, it’s been a long day and we’ve all got a lot to think about. How about we meet back here tomorrow morning for coffee and a planning discussion?”_ _

__It was obvious he was saying it for Doris’s sake, but Karen found that, after the excitement of showing her—her crew what she’d worked for so long on, she was feeling a little drained herself. “That’s a good idea, Ben,” she said._ _

__He nodded at her. “Eight o’clock?”_ _

__Matt made a face, and Foggy said, “Better make it nine. Some of us run on more nocturnal schedules.”_ _

__“All right,” said Ben. “Nine o’clock.” He stepped over to Karen, and in a lower voice said, “You’ve been planning this for a long time, haven’t you?”_ _

__The truth couldn’t hurt, not now. “Almost since we finished the last job.”_ _

__“I don’t….” He shook his head. “I don’t know exactly what to do with that, Karen, but I gotta tell you, I think I underestimated you.”_ _

__Her mouth twitched in a smile, but she didn’t want to come off like an idiot, so she kept her face serious as she said, “Happens all the time.”_ _

__He gave her a wry look. “Well, I’m starting to think my instincts are going bad, ‘cause I don’t usually do that, and I’ve had to readjust a lot of my expectations lately. But then, I guess you’ve actually been a crusader going way back, huh?”_ _

__“I won’t say everything I’ve done as Pagemaster was _selfless_ , exactly,” she said, “but yeah, I like to think there’s a little, you know, taking on the big bads involved in the whole process, corporations and banks and corrupt politicians and whatever.” _ _

__“I wasn’t even talking about that,” said Ben, smiling a little sadly at her, and Karen’s blood froze in her veins._ _

__“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_ _

__Ben adjusted his messenger bag on his shoulder without looking at it, his eyes still on her. “You’re not the only one who can do a little research, kid. I’m a journalist, and I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. You don’t want to talk about it, fine, we’re not here to have a lot of heart-to-hearts, but I’m saying—you know better than most people about collateral damage, so maybe we all want to step carefully while we’re doing this, make sure we’re all doing it for the right reasons, huh?”_ _

__She swallowed painfully. “Yeah. Okay. But you’re right, I don’t want to talk about it.”_ _

__“Got it,” he said with a nod. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”_ _

__“See you tomorrow,” Karen managed._ _

__She watched as Ben extracted Doris from her conversation with Matt and Foggy about office equipment and the two of them got their things together to leave. At the door, Ben paused and turned to look at Karen again. “Looking forward to working with you,” he said, sincerely but not without a touch of irony._ _

__“Likewise.”_ _

__Elektra turned her head from Ben to Karen as Ben and Doris vanished down the hall. “And what exactly were you two talking about?”_ _

__Karen shrugged, pulling herself together. “He was just telling me he was impressed with everything I did but that we ought to be careful after what happened last time, which I agreed with.”_ _

__Matt frowned at her, and Karen remembered with a sinking feeling that he could—what, hear heartbeats or something? At any rate, he could tell when people were lying. And fuck, he’d probably heard the whole conversation between her and Ben. But he didn’t call her out. Instead he said, “You’re both right. We should be careful. We went into the thing with Confederated Global blind, if you’ll pardon the pun. We’d better know what we’re doing this time.”_ _

__“Question, man, exactly how many terrible blind jokes do you have in your repertoire?” Foggy asked lightly._ _

__“Don’t know, they’re hard to count. Let’s see….” The lines of his frown softening, Matt counted on his fingers until only one middle finger was still standing, and Foggy laughed._ _

__“All right, I think we’ve had all the serious talk we can all stand for one day. It’s, what, almost five? I say we find a happy hour somewhere and grab some food and libations.”_ _

__“I know a few places,” Matt offered, and Elektra made a face._ _

__“Matthew, for someone with heightened senses, you haven’t thus far struck me as a man with particularly good taste. Look, let me buy you an outfit you can actually be seen in public wearing—you all look all right, if not particularly fashionable,” she said to Karen, Claire, and Foggy._ _

__Claire made a face. “Gee, thanks.” Karen let the words roll off her back; pretty much anything less than the runway at Milan was going to strike Elektra as unimpressive, she thought._ _

__Matt scowled. “I can buy my own clothes. I’m not a charity case.”_ _

__“Steal them if you like, I don’t care,” said Elektra with a smooth shrug, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “But if I’m going to take you all someplace halfway decent, you can’t be wearing a ten-year-old sweatshirt.”_ _

__“Ah.” Claire stood up and stretched. “I’m not sure I’m up for anything super fancy. I might just go back to my mom’s place.”_ _

__After the shock she’d just had from Ben, Karen didn’t really feel like going to some five-star place or some loud club, either. “I think I’m out, too, guys. I’m gonna head back to my hotel room and prep for tomorrow.”_ _

__“Seriously?” asked Foggy. “All work and no play makes Karen a dull girl. Plus,” he added in a more serious voice, “If we’re going to be working together on a more regular basis, I think we all ought to get to know each other a little better.”_ _

__A loaded statement, coming from someone who read people for a living, in order to trick them out of money. “Rain check?” she said, digging up a smile for him._ _

__He didn’t push. “I’m holding you to that,” he said, jabbing a finger in her direction before turning to Matt. “Matt, buddy, you’re coming with Elektra and me, right?”_ _

__“I, uh.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like he was…embarrassed, or something. “What exactly is an outfit I can be seen in public wearing? I don’t have to wear a suit or anything, do I? I kind of dress for comfort.”_ _

__“Oh, God, I’m going to have so much fun with you,” said Elektra, pulling him up from his chair. Karen, despite her mood, had to laugh at the dumbstruck look on his face._ _

__“You guys sure you don’t want to come?” Foggy asked. “Protect Matt from Elektra?”_ _

__“I think he’ll be fine,” said Claire with a little half cut-off laugh. “Have fun, you guys, and try not to get into trouble.”_ _

__"Aww," said Matt. "So much for my evening plans."_ _

__The three of them left, Elektra still dragging Matt along by his arm but, Karen noted, carefully guiding him around the edge of the door and the rolling cart still sitting by the elevator from where it had been left by movers. Foggy followed along, offering cheerful suggestions for where they could go that echoed down the hall._ _

__"I have to admit," said Claire once they’d gotten into the elevator, "I have a hard time imagining those three going out for dinner at a nice, normal place."_ _

__"Really? I don't."_ _

__Claire shrugged. "I don't know, maybe it's the combination of them together. I'm almost afraid they're going to decide to rip off a bank along the way." She rolled her shoulders, closing her eyes with a sigh, and then smiled at Karen. She had a very warm smile. "So hey, Mastermind, looks like Counterweight Incorporated went over well with everybody."_ _

__"You were pretty quiet," said Karen. "What did you think?"_ _

__"Oh, don't even front. You know I think it's great. You obviously put a lot of work and money into it while the rest of us were farting around."_ _

__The tone was brisk, but her expression was still warm, her eyes shining with a laughter that invited Karen in on the joke. Karen found herself smiling back without really meaning to._ _

__"Where are you staying?" she asked._ _

__"My apartment," Claire said. "I'm _from_ New York, remember?" _ _

__Karen's face felt flushed. "I remember. I just—I don't know, I guess I've gotten kind of into our grand hotel tour, I kind of forgot you had a place here already."_ _

__"Nothing special, but it's home." She gave Karen a curious look. "Where are you staying? We could grab a cab together, if you're heading in the general direction of Harlem."_ _

__"Oh, no." Karen waved a hand. "I'm only a couple of blocks from here. I'll probably just walk."_ _

__"Okay, cool." Claire picked up her purse and shrugged on her jacket._ _

__Karen felt a sudden panic, like if she were alone with herself, there wouldn't be any barrier between her and the memories her conversation with Ben had awoken. "Hey," she said, "you want to grab a drink or something before you head back to your place? My hotel has a really nice bar."_ _

__"Jesus," said Claire. "All these hotels! I really need to get used to drinking cocktails that cost less than twenty bucks again." It wasn't a no, though, and she closed her eyes briefly before asking, "How far?"_ _

__"Literally five minutes," Karen said._ _

__It was actually closer to ten by the time they'd made their way to the hotel bar, but Claire didn't make any complaints. The bar was a little crowded, families of tourists with their college-age kids, but luckily the bartender didn't have any problems with Claire and Karen taking their drinks to Karen's room. As much as they were paying for the drinks, Karen thought, there _shouldn't_ have been any problems. _ _

__The room was really more like a suite, with a little sitting area complete with coffee table, and Claire grabbed the couch and set her drink down on the table. "It's weird," she said. "I always think of these as rich people places, right? But now I'm a rich person." She took a big sip of her drink. "I always thought it was bullshit when people pulling down six-figure salaries pulled that whole 'I don't feel rich' thing, but I've got millions of dollars in the bank now and I still feel like a giant faker in these expensive hotels and stuff."_ _

__"It takes getting used to," said Karen, taking a long sip of her own drink. She could tell the difference now between different brands of vodka by taste—not as well as Matt could, she had no doubt, but enough to tell cheap stuff from quality. This cocktail was quality. "When I first started doing this, I felt like—did you ever see Home Alone 2?" _ _

__"Where the kid ends up in the fancy hotel by himself?" Claire grinned. "Worst parents ever."_ _

___Not really,_ thought Karen. There were worse parents out there. But she knew what Claire meant, and she smiled before saying, "Sure, but at least they had credit cards. And he has to pretend that they know he's there, using them. And I swear to God, after the first time I pulled a computer scam, I stayed in a hotel like that and every time the concierge looked at me, I thought it was gonna be like Tim Curry in that movie, you know, the suspicious one who knows Kevin's faking?" _ _

__Claire laughed at that. "I can see that." She swirled her drink around without sipping it and then put it down again, the laughter drained from her face. "I don't know. I guess I wouldn't feel so weird about it if I felt like I'd earned it, but the whole thing happened so fast, and it was mostly you and Foggy doing the stock market shit, and half the time it feels like I just dreamed the whole thing, and I'm gonna wake up tomorrow broke and out of work."_ _

__It was weird. Karen, as a general rule, didn't feel guilty for what she did or how she lived, and that was intentional—guilt, she'd decided long ago, was bullshit. But what she was feeling now, thinking of Claire feeling like she hadn't earned her money when it was Karen whose money came, for the most part, from outright theft, felt uncomfortably close to guilt as she remembered it. "Hey," she said, "I know the whole thing was weird and fast and totally not what you're used to, but you really did earn the money. I mean, you and Ben kept us together on that job. Without you, Matt and Elektra and me would either be dead or on the run, and isn't that worth something?"_ _

__"I can't imagine Elektra living on the run," said Claire, her tone a little lighter. "I think she'd probably go on some kind of rampage. But yeah. It's worth something that you guys are here and safe and not, like breaking into buildings."_ _

__"Yet," Karen pointed out._ _

__"Yet." Claire picked up her drink again and sipped it, and they sat in silence. Karen didn't know what Claire was thinking; her expression was closed off, which made Karen a little nervous. After a while, Claire leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and gave Karen an intense look. "How'd you get started doing the whole hacking thing, if you don't mind my asking? It just seems like—I mean, who decides when they're a kid that they're gonna grow up to be a computer hacker?"_ _

__It was exactly that kind of thought that Karen had hoped to avoid tonight. She smiled and said, “Oh, you know. Tough job market, and the computer biz is notoriously sexist, so, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”_ _

__The look Claire gave her said that she didn’t believe a word, but she downed the rest of her cocktail and didn’t press the issue. After a moment, she said, “I’m starving. Wanna grab some room service before I head out? I know you’re good for it.”_ _

__“Oh, so now we’re just mooching off Karen, is that it?” said Karen. She couldn’t even keep a straight face._ _

__“Yeah,” said Claire, her eyes full of laughter. “Why not?”_ _

__They ordered a couple of outlandishly expensive pasta dishes off the lengthy room service menu, along with a plate of bruschetta and a bottle of wine, and found old reruns of CSI to watch while they waited for the food to arrive. Karen wasn’t the biggest crime procedural fan in the world, but she was glad for the distraction—being next to Claire on the couch made her skin prickle with nerves. She’d gotten out of the habit of caring whether people liked her or not, which was probably why she was reacting so strongly to the proximity, she told herself. And also it had been a long time since she’d had sex, which couldn’t be helping. _ _

__The food, when it finally arrived, was good, if still overpriced, and Karen let herself relax into what had become a familiar routine of sharing a meal with Claire. Afterwards, Claire shoved her plate and glass away from herself. “Ugh. I’m gonna have the mother of all wine headaches tomorrow, and I think I’m gonna have to roll myself back to my apartment.”_ _

__“I mean, you don’t actually have to go back,” said Karen before she’d really even thought about it. “The suite has a king-size, and you can maybe save yourself some cab fare.”_ _

__“Yeah,” said Claire, “Like I really need to sweat cab fare these days.” She yawned and rubbed her eyes, as if the very mention of a bed was making her sleepy. “I think I’m gonna take you up on that, Karen, thanks. Just let me call my mom, and we can maybe find something else to watch on TV. We could even go crazy and spring for a movie—live dangerously.”_ _

__“Call your mom?” asked Karen stupidly. Ugh. She’d definitely drunk too much._ _

__Claire shrugged. “Eh. She’ll want to know I’m back in town, and we haven’t talked for a few days.” She pushed her chair back from the table, dug her phone out, and wandered out into the hall with it. Karen could hear her talking outside, a low murmur switching back and forth between Spanish and English, but she tried not to listen. One weird eavesdropper on the team was probably enough._ _

__She had kind of zoned out a little, floating on the feeling of physical contentment that came from being pleasantly full and tipsy enough to feel good, when Claire came back in. “How’s your mom?” asked Karen. It seemed like the kind of thing people asked._ _

__“Good. Giving me a hard time about not calling her more, but whatever.” She waved a dismissive hand. “She thinks I’m nuts, all the travel and hobbies and stuff, plus not getting another nursing job, but she likes that I’m less stressed out all the time, so it all evens out.”_ _

__“You guys must be really close,” said Karen. She thought of her own mother, sitting in Karen’s childhood bedroom and helping her pack for a mission trip to Guatemala sophomore year of high school, and ruthlessly cut the memory off._ _

__“Yeah, well.” Claire leaned back into the chair and lazily laid her hands on her thighs. “It was just her and me growing up. My dad…well, he pretty much wasn’t in the picture.”_ _

__Karen looked down, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Don’t be. I mean, I’m pissed at him for my mom’s sake, but I don’t even really remember him, so…” She shrugged again. “Anyway, I don’t have any brothers or sisters, so it was pretty much…Mom and me against the world. She’s basically the strongest person I know.”_ _

__“That’s great,” said Karen, knowing she sounded inane but unable to think of a better response._ _

__“Mmm.” Claire rubbed her hands together then sat up straighter. “How about you?”_ _

__“How about me what?” Karen’s voice was sharper than she’d meant it to be. Damn alcohol._ _

__Claire sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about your family. Hell, I don’t really know much about _you_. Where are you from? You have any brothers or sisters? Your parents know about all this hacker shit you do?” _ _

__If she just said straight-out that she didn’t want to talk about this, it would be as good as telling Claire that there was something there to talk about, so Karen smiled as best she could and said, “I’m from Vermont, and yeah, I have six brothers and sisters.”_ _

__“ _Six_?” Claire’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” _ _

__“Sure. Kevin, Kyle, Katherine, Kenneth, Kelly, and Keith.”_ _

__“All with K’s?” At Karen’s nod, Claire huffed out an incredulous laugh. “You’re kidding me right now. I didn’t know people actually did that shit, outside the Duggars or whatever.”_ _

__“You can take it up with my parents,” said Karen, her forced good humor wearing thin. “Whatever, I haven’t talked to any of them in literally years, so. You know.”_ _

__Claire’s smile faded, and she looked at Karen with serious eyes. “Ah,” was all she said. And after a minutes, she added, “Well. Thanks for telling me. You wanna see if they have anything decent by way of in-room movies?”_ _

__Karen picked up the remote, almost pathetically eager to stop talking, and made herself smile calmly at Claire. “Sure.”_ _

__Everyone was on time for the meeting at nine the next morning, though at varying levels of awake—Doris looked a lot better, well-rested and cheerful, but Matt and Foggy looked a little the worse for wear._ _

__“Sweet Jesus, can this woman party,” said Foggy in response to Ben’s question, jerking a thumb at Elektra. “Swear to God, if I didn’t pickle my liver last night, it wasn’t for lack of trying.”_ _

__“Maybe don’t talk so loud,” said Matt with a groan. He lay his head on the table and put his hands over his ears._ _

__Elektra shook her head. “Lightweights.”_ _

__“Guys,” said Claire firmly. She’d woken up that morning all at once and ready to go, the way she had on all their recruitment trips. Definitely a morning person. “Happy as I am that you all had a good time last night, I think Ben and Karen have some information for us.”_ _

__Ben laughed. “Hey, this thing is Karen’s show.” To Karen, he said, “Why don’t you get whatever high-tech presentation thing you have going, and I’ll fill in whenever I have something to add.”_ _

__Karen felt her face warm up, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. This had all been Karen’s idea, so it only made sense that Ben would let Karen lay the job out. “Okay,” she said, and she pulled up the presentation she’d prepared. “Matt,” she said, “do you have something you can read on, if I sent you an e-mail?”_ _

__“Sure,” said Matt, lifting his head again, and he gave her an e-mail address. After Claire had gone to bed the previous night, Karen had copied and pasted the text from her presentation in a Word document; it wasn’t fancy, but it would probably get at least the basic ideas laid out for Matt._ _

__The recruitment trips had all involved a brief explanation of Rand Enterprises’ various sins over the years, so she didn’t need to spend much time on that in her introduction; she jumped quickly to the point. “Two years ago, Rand Enterprises renovated its plant on Staten Island, which had previously been devoted to generating synthetic fuel supplements, to work on hybrid nuclear energy. Apparently, they’re supposed to be doing really innovative work on nuclear fusion—according to their press releases, the goal is to create an essentially unlimited green energy resource, eliminating the need for fossil fuels.”_ _

__“Well, I don’t believe that for a minute,” said Elektra with a scoff. “An unlimited resource is one that cannot be controlled, and there is _no_ way that a company like Rand isn’t setting out to control that market.” _ _

__“You’re right,” said Karen. “But surprisingly enough, that isn’t my main concern.” She pulled up the news stories she’d tracked over the last few months. “In the last year, fifteen people living within one mile of the plant have developed an extremely rare cancer of the heart.”_ _

__“The _heart_?” Foggy whistled. “How rare are we talking about?” _ _

__Karen shrugged. “The Mayo clinic sees one case of heart cancer a year, and that’s heart cancers in general. Of the fifteen people who developed this heart cancer, seven were all diagnosed with the same kind of cancer: malignant rhabdomyosarcoma—and I guess that’s even rarer. All seven, by the way, worked in some connection with the plant—food services, cleaning, security, whatever. A few died before their diagnoses could be narrowed down.”_ _

__“That…does _not_ seem like a coincidence,” said Claire slowly, her eyes wide and horrified. _ _

__“That’s what Rand is claiming, though. They say the plant has passed all government inspections, and that even if there is some connection between the plant and the cancers, they’ve complied with all legal regulations, so they’re not responsible for it.”_ _

__Matt sat back in his seat, a murderous expression on his face. “Wow,” he said. “Fuck them.”_ _

__They were all in agreement on that one._ _

__“So what are you all going to do about it?” asked Doris. “This seems more like material for a class-action lawsuit than anything else.”_ _

__“That’s been tried, hon.” Ben dug a stack of folders out of his messenger bag. “Karen, if you don’t mind?” At Karen’s nod, Ben handed folders to all of them—even to Matt._ _

__Matt blinked, his eyebrows high over his sunglasses. “Braille?”_ _

__“Made a trip to the Braille and Talking Book Library on 20th Street, and they were nice enough to let me use one of their Braille embossers.” To everyone else, he said, “I tried to dig up anything we might need to know about earlier attempts to take on Rand. There’s a lot, to be honest, so I just brought in a representative sample. Suffice to say, Rand has good lawyers. They’ll settle without going to court sometimes—I’m gonna guess if the malfeasance is too glaringly obvious or the optics are too bad—but the settlements always involve gag orders, so information about those cases is cut off there. Usually, though, they’re able to crush opponents. They either keep or fake meticulous documentation, so the ‘your cancer’s not my fault since we followed the rules’ shit works for them a lot, and in other cases, the plaintiffs have had, shall we say, unfortunate accidents before bringing the cases to trial.”_ _

__Foggy’s eyes widened. “No shit. You thinking another corporation with hitmen on the payroll?”_ _

__Ben’s mouth twisted into a dry facsimile of a smile. “Wouldn’t put it past them. I called up a couple of old friends when I got back to the city. I couldn’t get a lot, but in general, I get the sense that Rand’s done business with various organized crime entities in the city. Property deals, transportation contracts, that kind of thing. It’s always been with the legitimate business end of the mob, of course, but if they wanted to take someone out, they’d know who to call to get it done.”_ _

__“Well,” said Elektra. “Doesn’t that make things interesting.” She flipped open the folder. “Which of these involves a potential assassination?” Ben answered, and she scanned the files. “Some of these do have ‘mob hit’ written all over them,” she concluded. “Some come off a bit more…I don’t know. Espionage, perhaps.”_ _

__“You can tell that just from reading summaries of the cases?” asked Karen, intrigued._ _

__“Mob hits aren’t typically very subtle,” said Elektra. “Guns, generally, sometimes beatings or hit and runs. Often in public places to send a message. But sudden death of apparent natural causes, people dying in their sleep—that can be any one of a number of toxins or poisons that wouldn’t be seen in an autopsy even if a coroner should happen to look for foul play.” She tapped the folder in front of her. “As I said, interesting.”_ _

__Matt, who’d been apparently reading the papers Ben had brought him, turned his face in Ben and Karen’s direction. “What are these Staten Island people doing? Are they bringing a lawsuit?”_ _

__“They’ve been _trying_ ,” Ben said. “Like Karen said, though, Rand’s been playing innocent. One of the parties in the suit has died while they’ve been litigating. I don’t know how long the rest are going to keep at it.” _ _

__“Damn.” Claire shook her head. “So what’s our strategy? Would we be looking for proof that the company _did_ know there were risks, or that something wasn’t right, and went ahead anyway?” _ _

__“Sounds good to me,” said Foggy. “Feed that info to the media like we did last time, bada-bing, bada-boom, we sell the stocks short and watch the company go down in flames.”_ _

__“I’d be okay with that,” Matt said. Claire made a face._ _

__“I don’t know, you guys. Obviously, Rand’s a shady-ass company, but they employ a lot of people globally, this new energy initiative of theirs seems like it actually works, and they make one of the most effective drugs for treating leishmaniasis in the world. I know we can’t let them just keep doing what they’re doing, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable just sabotaging the whole thing.”_ _

__“I don’t even know if we _can_ sabotage the whole thing,” Doris pointed out. “From what it sounds like, they’re good at spinning a story to suit themselves. Maybe the thing to do is get enough evidence to get the worst people out of the company, and then the scandal might encourage the rest of them to shape up.” _ _

__“Which we could _encourage_ with the rest of our evidence.” Elektra smiled broadly. “Blackmail. I like it.” _ _

__“That’s not exactly what I was saying, Elektra,” said Doris, “but I suppose it does make sense.”_ _

__Foggy frowned. “Doesn’t sound as profitable,” he mused, and Matt threw his head back and groaned._ _

__“Ugh. Is that the only reason you’re here, man?”_ _

__“Yeah,” said Foggy plainly._ _

__Matt made another disgusted noise. “Whatever. I guess the question is, can we stop all the _other_ awful shit this company’s doing without actually toppling it?” _ _

__Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. We might have to narrow our target a little here, folks. As much as I like the idea of Rand Enterprises paying for every dirty deed it ever did, people have short attention spans, and it’s a lot easier for them to focus on one scandal than a million scandals.”_ _

__“Hmm,” said Matt with a frown, clearly unhappy about it, but Foggy said, “Yeah, fair enough. All right, we shut down the Staten Island thing, kick out the CEO…collect EPA whistleblower rewards or something?”_ _

__“Why don’t we let you handle that end,” said Ben wryly._ _

__“And you better had,” said Elektra irritably. “God, I can’t even ask to be paid when nobody’s making any money on the job. It’s a good thing half the employees here are thieves, or I’d say this company hasn’t got much of a future.”_ _

__Karen wasn’t exactly thrilled about the turn the discussion had taken. It seemed...lazy, somehow, to focus on the most current evil while letting all the past ones stay buried. But they’d agreed that this would be a team effort, that nobody’d have to get involved with something they didn’t want to. And this seemed to be what the team wanted. She took a deep breath. “Okay, then,” she said. “We’re agreed. We focus specifically on evidence relating to the Staten Island plant—evidence that the facilities aren’t up to code, or they’re mishandling waste or something.”_ _

__Claire looked at her with a quizzical expression. “Would we even be able to recognize something like that if we saw it? I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not exactly an expert in nuclear fusion.”_ _

__“I’m hoping we won’t have to be,” Karen said, warming to the idea. “If we can get something like internal communications between the CEOs, or an admission from one of them that they knew the plant had problems, they’ll be interpreting the science stuff for us. Plus,” she added modestly, “I’ve done a little brushing up on this stuff. If anything’s really far out there on the plant’s blueprints or something, I think I’ll be able to ID it.”_ _

__“Huh,” said Doris thoughtfully. “So you guys would be…trying to get the executives to admit to wrongdoing? Seems a little far-fetched to me.”_ _

__Foggy laughed. “Depends on who they think is listening. You’d be amazed what people are willing to say if they think they’re alone with someone who agrees with them.”_ _

__“Exactly!” said Karen with a smile. “Or if they think their e-mail and phone communications are secure, which, let me state for the record, they’re not. Lemme—” She clicked through to the next part of the presentation. “The company’s board has a lot of big names, but the primary shareholders are Danny Rand—son of the original Rand—Rand Senior’s partner, Harold Meachum, and Meachum’s two kids, Joy and Ward.”_ _

__“Isn’t that nice,” said Doris. “A family business.”_ _

__That was the kind of thing Karen’s mom would have said back in the day. Karen couldn’t keep a little scorn out of her laugh when she said, “I don’t think nice has anything to do with it. When Danny Rand showed up to join the company last year, the Meachums had him involuntarily committed.”_ _

__“Wasn’t he supposed to have died in a plane crash?” asked Claire. “I kind of remember hearing about it.”_ _

__“Yeah, in China.” Karen had read dozens of stories about the crash and Rand’s mysterious reappearance, but she still didn’t have a clear idea of how exactly he’d made it back to the US. “I guess he survived the crash and was taken in by some monks.”_ _

__“Some monks,” Matt said flatly._ _

__Karen shrugged. “That’s the official story, anyway. As you can imagine, the Meachums weren’t _super_ interested in handing over a major share of their company to a guy who just showed up out of nowhere claiming to be Wendell Rand’s son—I think Rand’s will specified that in the event of Danny’s death, Harold Meachum gets his shares of Rand Enterprises—but they must have had a DNA test done or something, because they did a press conference welcoming him to the company. Rand almost immediately made himself look like an idiot by apologizing to one of the Staten Island plaintiffs on camera.” _ _

__Foggy sat up straighter. “Oh. That’s good, we gotta hit him.”_ _

__“Don’t be stupid, I’m certain he wasn’t millions of dollars’ worth of sorry.” Elektra’s mouth was twisted in a disdainful grimace. “I’m sure the company argued that he was merely expressing sympathy with their position rather than admitting guilt, and Rand went along with it. I hope our plan isn’t depending on a spoiled CEO’s conscience.”_ _

__“She’s right,” Karen put in, but Foggy shook his head._ _

__“We don’t need him to be a good person, we need him to be someone who’ll drop his guard and say something stupid, and it sounds like he is.”_ _

__“I’ll say,” said Ben. “Seems like half the time he and Ward Meachum appear on camera together, Ward’s about to strangle Rand with his bare hands.”_ _

__“And the other half?” Claire asked._ _

__Ben turned his gaze back toward the screen, where Karen had arranged photos of Danny Rand and the Meachums. “Looks like he’s about to strangle his father.”_ _

__Karen studied the pictures. Everyone was smiling, but Ben was right, there was a weird kind of hostility emanating from Ward. As for Harold…maybe he just gave off a vibe that made people hate him, because in the pictures from the days when Wendell and Heather Rand had been around, Heather looked a little stiff and grim standing next to him, like she didn’t want to touch him by accident. She wasn’t good at trying to guess people’s emotions based on pictures, though, so she was good at—facts._ _

__“I’m pretty sure Ward’s sick of playing second banana to his dad,” Karen said. “He tried to strike out on his own, once, but Rand, under the control of Harold Meachum, pretty much nipped that idea in the bud. He’s a competent executive, and he’s had a lot of success carrying out the company’s various projects, but if he ever initiates or takes lead on any of them, I’ve yet to see it.”_ _

__“Hmm.” Matt leaned forward on the table, his Braille papers scattered around him, and rested his chin on one hand. “What about the daughter? Joy?”_ _

__“Lawyer,” said Karen. “Graduated top of her class from Columbia. She plays nice in front of the camera, but she’s a hardball attorney—she’s taken the lead on shutting down most of the lawsuits since she came to work for Rand five years ago.”_ _

__Claire made an unimpressed face. “She have issues with her old man, too?”_ _

__It was weird, trying to analyze other people’s family dynamics from the outside. Karen wasn’t sure she was any good at it. “Hard to say. She seems to get along with everyone—Ward, Harold, even Danny Rand. But she could just be putting on a good show.”_ _

__“I’m good with body language,” said Foggy. “Get me some footage of her from interviews or whatever, give me some time to watch it, I’m pretty sure I can get you some information on her feelings on whatever or whoever she’s being asked about.”_ _

__“Good,” said Karen. “Because that’s what we’re going to need.”_ _

__Ben fixed her with a considering look. “I think I get your plan. Find the weak link. Find the one who’s gonna turn on the others, and what it’s gonna take to get them to fold. Play ‘em against each other.”_ _

__Karen studied his face carefully, but there didn’t seem to be any disapproval or condemnation in his face or voice. He thought it was a good idea—or at least not a bad one. She smiled. “Exactly.”_ _

__***_ _

__Laurie Pennington, Karen’s new supervisor at Rand Enterprises, was really, really friendly. Karen was doing her best to smile, but Jesus, did she really need to hear detailed anecdotes about Laurie’s dog, or karaoke night at the bar two blocks over, or the time Danny Rand had spilled coffee on her but then bought her a totally new outfit?_ _

__“You might as well pay attention,” said Ben over the earpieces. “You never know when someone’s gonna say something important.”_ _

__Right. Right, Karen was there for the technical end, but there was no reason not to try to get information from the people around the office while she was at it. “Hey,” she said when Laurie took a break in her anecdote about moving her sister into a new apartment with her boyfriend, “do you know anything about those people suing Rand? I keep seeing it in the news.”_ _

__Laurie’s friendly, open face shuttered a little, and she said, “Honestly, I don’t keep up with that stuff in payroll. Company this size, there’s always some lawsuit or deal or whatever—I wouldn’t pay too much attention to it.”_ _

__Shit. “Subtle,” Foggy said in her ear. He was two floors up, waiting for the beginning of Joy Meachum’s appointment with Fulton Nielsen, EPA attorney. “Nice going, Karen.”_ _

__Karen dearly, dearly wanted to tell him to shut up, but Laurie would probably think it was aimed at her. Instead, she widened her eyes and said, “Oh, yeah, of course, I don’t mean to be nosy.”_ _

__Foggy snickered, but it seemed to mollify Laurie, and she finished her tour of the offices with half a dozen more cheerful anecdotes, finally dropping Karen off at a cubicle. “Now, your résumé said you had some experience working with health insurance companies?”_ _

__Karen shrugged. She’d done a little research into it when she was looking into Ben’s background—enough to fake it in an HR interview. “Sure, a little. I worked in administration at a hospital for a couple of years.”_ _

__“Great,” said Laurie, cheerful as ever. “The benefits at Rand are _great_ , but a company this size always has employees with, you know, weird problems, or people who fill out the forms wrong, so we spend a lot of time ironing that out.” She left Karen with a folder full of insurance paperwork to work on and an invitation to trivia night at the bar. _Great_ , as Laurie would say. _ _

__“She seems nice,” Matt commented._ _

__Karen rolled her eyes. “Sure, if you don’t mind never getting a word in edgewise.” She logged into the computer at her cubicle and immediately began searching for Rand’s more secured servers. The problem wouldn’t be getting into the servers—Karen was pretty confident that if the Pentagon couldn’t keep her out, there was no way these corporate snakes could—but finding information that was even remotely useful to their job. Rand undoubtedly had a lot of crooked irons in the fire, but Counterweight was here about one thing, the Staten Island plant, and Karen was going to have to focus to be able to find what she needed before Rand’s security noticed the intrusion._ _

__“I guess,” said Matt. “By the way, the next time we do this, someone else can pretend to be the custodian. I _reek_ of cleaning chemicals.” _ _

__“Stay focused, man,” Ben ordered. “According to our intel, energy R & D is on your floor—you heard anything about the plant yet?” _ _

__“Not a ton, but what I’ve heard is pretty…innocuous.”_ _

__“Innocuous?” Even the crystal-clear microphones Karen had put in the earpieces couldn’t filter out the wind entirely, and she had to strain to hear Elektra, who was currently tailing Danny Rand. “What does that mean?”_ _

__“I don’t know—very focused on energy output, test readings, that kind of thing. The few people who’ve even brought up the lawsuit are worried themselves, because they don’t know what could be causing the cancers.”_ _

__“That doesn’t mean anything,” Karen said. Ooh, financials. Karen had always been a big believer in following the money. “People fall victim to their own crap all the time.”_ _

__“Sure,” said Matt evenly. “All I’m saying is, I’m not hearing anything that would support our ‘deliberate cover-up’ narrative.”_ _

__Claire made a nonchalant noise. “That’s fine, Matt. It’s not like we expected them to start talking about their evil plan or anything. Just keep an ear out, okay? There’s a restricted area over in the northwest corner—why don’t you see if you can get in there?”_ _

__Matt scoffed. “‘See if I can get in there?’ Please.”_ _

__“Yeah, yeah,” said Ben. Karen could picture him rolling his eyes. “We got it, Houdini, no door is safe. Elektra, what’s the story with Rand?”_ _

__“God only knows,” said Elektra, sounding frustrated. “So far, the man has talked to some random people in the park, drunk the largest frappucino I’ve ever seen, and knocked on the window of a karate dojo to wave at—I don’t know, presumably the people in the karate class. We’re nowhere near Rand Enterprises or Staten Island. We’re absolutely sure this man has a job?”_ _

__“Officially,” said Ben. “He’s one of the company’s major shareholders, and I think the official title is ‘Vice President of Community Relations.’” He sighed. “Any contact with the Meachums?”_ _

__“Phone conversation with Ward Meachum. I think Meachum was angry or upset, because Rand spent most of the conversation saying, ‘It’s okay, Ward,’ and ‘Don’t worry, Ward,’ but I couldn’t tell what the topic of conversation was. I could have used your ears, Matthew.”_ _

__“Probably better than I could,” Matt muttered. “The ranking scientist on the R & D team is having phone sex right now.” _ _

__Karen winced. If she hadn’t thought about the downsides of super senses before this job, she was certainly learning about them now. “I found payroll and tax information for him and the rest of the company’s execs,” she reported. “Plus the financials for the Staten Island plant.” A number caught her eye on one of the spreadsheets she had open, and she frowned. “Hmm.”_ _

__“Hmm? Did you find something, Karen?” Claire asked._ _

__“I don’t know, maybe. They’re just pouring money into this fusion project.”_ _

__“That makes sense,” said Claire. “I mean, experimental energy production’s bound to be pretty expensive.”_ _

__“Sure, but the losses aren’t as high as you would expect, considering the plant’s not fully operational yet. I mean, they’ve got some federal science grants, some tax write-offs, but I don’t know, these numbers still look funny to me.”_ _

__“Interesting,” said Foggy. “Maybe they’ve got some funding on the side. Didn’t you say they had mob ties, Ben?”_ _

__Ben made a thoughtful noise. “Yeah, they’ve done a lot of property deals with crime families, but as far as I can tell, the land they built the Staten Island plant on, the contracting, all of it was legit.” Karen could hear an undertone of excitement, though, like the feeling she got when she found what she’d done wrong in a piece of code and knew where to go back and fix it. She grinned. She’d known that Ben would get into this, once he’d had a chance to whet his appetite for a story._ _

__“Well, that’ll give me something to talk about in my meeting, at least. Speaking of! Hi, are you Joy Meachum?” Karen was astounded by just how thoroughly Foggy’s voice had changed—instead of his usual friendly cheer, the voice he’d created for Fulton Nielsen radiated a kind of smarmy smugness. She took a break from transferring files to a flash drive to listen to him work._ _

__“Yes, that’s me. Mr. Nielsen?” Joy Meachum sounded just like she did in the interviews Karen had played: warm, but not too warm, polite and professional, competent but relatable. Karen wasn’t fooled. You didn’t shut down cases as strong as some of those class-action suits had been without being sharp and ruthless and willing to play dirty._ _

__“That’s right—my name’s Fulton Nielsen, and I’m from the Office of Enforcement and Compliance Assurance at the EPA.”_ _

__They sat at a small conference table and exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes. The laugh Foggy had come up with for Nielsen set Karen’s teeth on edge, and Elektra, who was already bored, urged him to get on with it, but Foggy ignored them all. Finally, Joy said, “Now what can we do for the EPA?”_ _

__“Well, about that! I just recently transferred to corporate compliance in New York, but I’m originally from the area, so I have a lot of friends in the city.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Joy’s voice was still polite, but Karen thought she could hear an undercurrent of suspicion._ _

__“Yeah, so when I got a call from a friend in the New York County Supreme Court that they’d heard talk of a massive class-action suit against Rand—something about cancer-causing emissions from a plant on Staten Island—well, I’d already heard about the suit from my boss, but I figured I better bump the case up on my priority list. Always worth maintaining an old friendship, you know?”_ _

__Joy’s voice had taken on a distinct chill when she said, “I don’t know what your friend told you, but that suit is completely groundless. We’ve been in compliance with every applicable environmental law and regulation, and the EPA thoroughly inspected the facility and equipment before we began operations. I really don’t think there’s anything we can do to help you here, Mr. Nielsen. Sorry to waste your time.”_ _

__“Hey!” There was a little noise on the other end—Karen guessed that Joy had stood up and so Foggy had, too, much more loudly. “I don’t feel like my time’s been wasted. I’m not on anyone’s _side_ here, Ms. Meachum. Or if I am, I’m on the government’s side—my only interest here is making sure the law’s being followed. I know enough about the energy industry to know that sometimes there are…unforeseen complications, shall we say, when it comes to experimental developments, but as long as you can convince me your facilities are actually in compliance, I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t be able to be on your side as this case moves forward. Or doesn’t.” _ _

__There was a long silence. Karen, who’d actually kind of forgotten about the files she was transferring, held her breath. At last, Joy said, “Look, why don’t you talk to Art Connelly at your office. He should still have the paperwork. This lawsuit’s a whole lot of nothing, and I don’t see any reason to waste both our times with it. Have a good morning, Mr. Nielsen.”_ _

__“You too, Ms. Meachum.”_ _

__After another pause in which Joy left the room and Foggy made his way back toward the elevator, Elektra asked, “Is that it? Kind of disappointing, big-time con man.”_ _

__“You _guys_ ,” said Foggy, still in Fulton Nielsen’s voice but sounding like a chastising parent. “You think ‘cause we pulled off that first con so quickly, every con goes like that, bing bang boom? We’re still on Day 1 here, and I’ve already gotten some useful information off of her.” _ _

__“Oh, yeah?” asked Claire. “Like what?”_ _

__“She wasn’t expecting me to bring up the suit—did you see how freaked she got then? That tells me there’s other shit going on with Rand Enterprises and the EPA, but none of it bothers her as much as this lawsuit, even if she thinks she has it under control. She hit on the ‘laws and regulations’ thing pretty hard, plus she gave me that dude’s name at the EPA, which makes me think that, whether they actually are in compliance or not, they’ve got some official-type people to say they are. And then the name—we can look up the name ‘Art Connelly,’ right, and see if there’s anything fishy going on with him?”_ _

__“Huh,” said Ben. “That was actually pretty impressive. You wouldn’t be bad at journalism.” Karen frowned, feeling unaccountably jealous, and pulled up a folder full of personnel files. The more information they had, the better._ _

__“Thanks, man,” said Foggy, who was starting to sound like himself again. “You know, I don’t think I told you—”_ _

__Whatever Foggy hadn’t told Ben, they were going to have to hear about it later. Before Foggy could finish his sentence, Matt said, “Hey, guys, does Rand have some—some subsidiary or something operating out of their building?” His tone was casual, but the underlying tenseness made Karen straighten up._ _

__“No,” Ben answered. “They don’t. Whatcha got, Matt?”_ _

__“I got into the restricted area. There are a couple of offices back there, and some kind of lab, but there’s also an elevator that only goes to one floor. Floor 31. It’s, ah. I don’t know what to make of it. There’s a couple of sales reps getting a kind of orientation in one of the conference rooms, and I’m no expert, but it kind of sounds like…they’re selling heroin.”_ _

__“ _Heroin_?” asked Ben, his voice high with incredulity. “Selling it to whom?” _ _

__“Well,” said Matt, surprisingly blasé, “I’m gonna say whoever’s usually in the market for heroin. Dealers more than users, if I had to guess.” He paused. “Somebody just dropped off a package, and by the smell, it’s unprocessed opium.”_ _

__“Are you kidding me?” Karen did a quick skim of the files she’d transferred, frustrated with herself. “I didn’t see anything about drugs in the background research on the company!”_ _

__“They’re a _pharmaceutical_ company,” said Elektra in terms of withering scorn. _ _

__“ _Illegal_ drugs, you knew what I meant!” _ _

__“Some of the drugs they manufacture are opioids,” Claire pointed out. “It could be that whoever these people are, they’ve got an in on Rand’s supply lines.”_ _

__Matt still sounded casual as she said, “Maybe they’re just tenants. It’s possible that Rand and the Meachums don’t actually know about it. The one in charge is a woman, on the older side, little bit of an accent. She’s got what sound like two bodyguards or something, and she’s making a lot of references to…does ‘the Hand’ mean anything to anyone?”_ _

__“Yes.” Elektra’s tone was not best pleased._ _

__Claire let out a soft breath. “What the fuck,” she said quietly._ _

__“Well, anyway,” Matt announced, “she’s talking to Harold Meachum about office space. Or some kind of space, anyway. It sounds like they have a property or rental agreement that doesn’t involve money.” After a pause, he added, sounding a lot less casual, “Now they’re talking about the prices of weapons on the open market.”_ _

__“That’s convenient,” Foggy said. “Have all your criminal enterprises located on one floor.”_ _

__Karen was still caught up on the part about the rental agreements without money. She finished saving personnel files and hacked her way through to the financial server again. “That would explain why it didn’t show up on my background financial research, if they’re trading favors or something. We’re _definitely_ on to something here.” _ _

__“Nothing you should be getting involved with, though,” Elektra said. “The Hand’s a criminal organization out of China. They’ve been around forever, have connections everywhere, and have more money than God. Or you, Nelson. Let’s just forget the heroin and the weapons and stay the hell out of this.” A horn honked in the background, and she sighed. “Now Rand is flirting with the woman who runs the dojo. Ugh. This is a tremendous waste of time.”_ _

__“Yeah, all right,” said Ben. “Why don’t you all come back in, if you’ve gotten everything you needed, Karen. Sounds like we’ve gotten all we’re gonna get today.”_ _

__“Maybe,” said Elektra. “Maybe not. Rand is talking to Ward Meachum again.”_ _

__“You want some company watching them?” asked Matt. “I gotta get out of here. There’s no way they don’t know all the custodial staff on their top-secret organized crime floor.”_ _

__“Why not?”_ _

__“I’m out, too.” That was Foggy. “Can’t rouse suspicion this early in the game.”_ _

__As a spreadsheet full of figures scrolled by on her screen, something struck Karen as…not right, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. “I think I’m sticking around,” she said. “Can’t let Laurie down.”_ _

__***_ _

__The restaurant they were eating in was loud and crowded, and with a party of seven, they’d been relegated to a dim corner booth with another table shoved against it, but Karen didn’t care. They’d been looking for a weak point, and they’d found it._ _

__“You’re sure?” Ben asked. “I don’t know, it seems strange to me that Harold Meachum’s son could be embezzling from his company right under his nose and he wouldn’t know about it. That man never struck me as somebody it was easy to pull one over on.”_ _

__“Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, but numbers don’t lie.” Karen had automatically backed up the most important of the files to her own private server—force of habit—and she pulled up her favorite spreadsheet to show Ben. “Look, it’s pretty straightforward—here’s what the deposits to the company accounts, after taxes, _should_ have been, and here’s what they actually were.” _ _

__Ben wiped his glasses off on his shirt and studied the spreadsheet, a wrinkle between his eyebrows as he frowned at it. Doris, who was sitting next to him, leaned over to peer at the screen. “They seem mighty close,” she commented. “Close enough not to get noticed if you’re not looking for anything missing.”_ _

__“Exactly,” said Karen, slapping the table with excitement. “It took a little digging, but I found the account Ward set up in Switzerland—he’s been making tiny deposits into it for the last fifteen years.”_ _

__Claire whistled. “Damn. He would have been, what, a teenager at the time?”_ _

__Foggy gave Karen an appreciative smile, his eyes warm. “Good catch, Pagemaster.”_ _

__Matt frowned and picked up a fork, passing and rolling it between his fingers. “How does that help us?” he asked. “I mean, the guy’s stealing from his own company. It’s greedy, it’s fucked up, but it doesn’t have anything to do with the Staten Island plant, does it?”_ _

__“Gives us some ammunition against him,” Foggy pointed out. “We’re looking for someone to roll on Rand’s workplace hazards and cover-ups, right? A guy who’s stealing from his company—a company run by his family, no less—is a guy who’s either open to blackmail, isn’t overflowing with family loyalty, or both.”_ _

__Elektra favored him with an approving glance. “I like how you think, Nelson.”_ _

__“So here’s a question,” Ben said. “How much does the left hand know what the right’s doing? We’re assuming right now that Harold, Joy, and Danny Rand don’t know about Ward’s embezzlement. If he’s operating separately, it doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibility that whatever’s going on at Staten Island—hell, whatever’s going on with that 31st floor—is also the work of one of them, keeping the others out of the loop.”_ _

__“I rule out Rand,” said Elektra with a scornful sniff. “His meeting with Ward Meachum was basically Ward telling him to show up for meetings, keep his mouth shut, and dress like an adult. Even if Rand _were_ behind whatever’s causing the cancer at the plant, he wouldn’t be able to cover it up.” _ _

__“The rest of them could be covering up _for_ him,” Doris offered, but Elektra shook her head. _ _

__“I doubt it. Rand’s ambitions so far as the company goes seem limited to making money and carrying on the family name.”_ _

__“That’s a little unfair,” Matt said mildly. “He did encourage the company to sell that leishmaniasis drug at cost.”_ _

__“Hey, you read my files!” said Karen, delighted._ _

__Matt gave her an odd look. “Did…you not want me to?”_ _

__“No, I did, I just….” It occurred to her that it probably wouldn’t sound good to say that Matt didn’t give the impression of someone who planned all that much, or that she hadn’t been sure his shitty phone would be able to open any kind of files. “I’m glad they were useful.”_ _

__“Mmm.” Matt gave her a quirky little smile and then turned his head back toward Elektra. “Well. Anyway, Rand took a lot of flack for that in the business pages, but he stuck to his guns. He seems to have philanthropic ambitions, at least.”_ _

__Elektra dismissed that with a wave of a hand. “Good PR, nothing more. But that’s just another reason I can’t see him as the mastermind behind the cancer cover-up. Can’t even manage the publicity around a good deed competently.”_ _

__“Rand’s isolated from the others,” Karen said, ticking it off on her fingers. “Ward’s isolated from the others, or at least he has _something_ he’s probably keeping from the others. And Harold has yet to be seen.” _ _

__“My money’s on him,” said Ben, taking a sip of his coke. “He was a ruthless businessman back in the day, even if he liked to cover it with that bullshit family man image. He supposedly turned over a new leaf after Wendell and Heather Rand died, but I don’t buy it, and that shit with ‘the Hand’ only confirms it.”_ _

__Foggy shrugged. “I wouldn’t rule out the junior Meachums just yet,” he said. “Ward’s clearly got ambitions of his own, and doesn’t seem to have any problem keeping things from his family. And Joy…Joy’s a wild card. I don’t have a good enough read on her yet to know if she’d involve herself in the—well, let’s go ahead and call it the dark underbelly of the company, but it wouldn’t surprise me.” He shook his head. “Hell, at this point, I’m not sure what _would_ surprise me.” _ _

__“Matthew.” Elektra’s voice was sharp, and Foggy shut his mouth with an audible click. Matt perked up like a dog hearing an intruder at the door. Karen felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. “I think I know that woman—the one who just ordered a vodka martini from the bar.”_ _

__Matt frowned in concentration, and Karen craned her head over her shoulder to see the woman Elektra was talking about—dark-haired, wearing an oversized jacket and scarf, sitting next to a vaguely familiar blonde woman at the bar. “Where do you know her from?” she asked. She kind of thought she knew the blonde woman from TV, but Elektra sure as hell wouldn’t sound like that on recognizing a celebrity._ _

__“This afternoon, after Ward’s meeting with Danny Rand,” Matt answered for Elektra. “Yeah. Give me a second.” Before anyone could object, he squeezed out from the booth and made his way up to the bar. People moved out of his way as he tapped his cane ahead of him, and he smiled graciously at them. Karen stifled a laugh. Matt didn’t like to draw attention to his blindness on the job, but it probably came in handy when he wanted to pick a pocket._ _

__“He’s not…” Claire began, watching as Matt bumped lightly into the woman at the bar, apologizing profusely._ _

__“Oh, he is,” said Foggy, shaking his head._ _

__“What?” asked Doris. “What’s he doing?”_ _

__Matt ordered a whiskey on the rocks, which came quickly, and he tapped his way back to their table. He sat down and slid a phone and a wallet across the table to Karen. “Here,” he said. “Who is she?”_ _

__“Young man, did you just steal those from that woman?” Doris asked._ _

__Matt froze. Karen snorted—it was about time he showed a little circumspection about pickpocketing everyone he met, even if it was only because someone whose opinion he seemed to value pointed it out—and grabbed the phone and wallet. The wallet belonged to a Jessica Jones and had a little bit of cash and no credit cards; the phone was, strangely enough, a burner, a cheap little flip phone with only two contacts in it and only a handful of calls in the log. She frowned. Weird choice for a night on the town. She ran a quick search on the name._ _

__“I can give them back to her,” said Matt, apparently having regained his composure a little bit. “I just thought it was probably the most efficient way to find out who she was.”_ _

__Doris whistled. “And here I thought I wasn’t going to get to see any of the action on this heist. Can you really give them back without her noticing?”_ _

__Shit, that was just going to boost his ego. Karen broke in, “We’ve got a problem. Miss Jessica Jones there is a licensed PI with an assault record, and I think she’s on the job.”_ _

__Everyone sat up straight at that. “Following us?” asked Ben sharply._ _

__“We gotta consider the possibility,” said Karen. “Well, fu—iddlesticks,” Foggy said, giving Doris an apologetic grin. “If it’s Fisk and company tracking us, that sure didn’t take long.”_ _

__Elektra’s eyes narrowed. “Give me five minutes alone in a room with her, and we’ll know whether Fisk and Wesley sent her or not.”_ _

__“Not a good idea,” said Claire. “If she is following us, that tips Fisk off that we know about him, and if she’s not…” Claire shrugged. “Who knows, she might be following Danny Rand or Ward Meachum, in which case she might be another piece of the Rand Enterprises puzzle.”_ _

__“So I get _that_ information out of her,” Elektra said, exasperated, but Ben shook his head. _ _

__“Claire’s right. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves, and I’ve seen the way you get information out of people, Elektra. It draws attention. At least this way, we know she’s a factor and can work around her.”_ _

__“Wow. This is better than a soap opera,” Doris exclaimed, not looking nearly as worried as Karen might have expected a retired woman with dementia to be about the prospect of being followed by a private investigator on a mob boss’s payroll. “If she’s following Danny or Ward, who hired her?”_ _

__Ben shot her an incredulous smile, apparently amused despite himself. “Now that’s the question, handsome.” He sighed, looking at his hands. “One of way too many questions.”_ _

__***_ _

__The next day, Foggy and Matt went back to their covers at Rand. Karen, who had more than enough files to work through, called HR to tell them the job wasn’t going to work out—poor Laurie—and settled herself in between Ben, Doris, and Claire._ _

__“You sure this is how you want to play it?” Foggy asked. “Seems like we’re moving pretty fast on this.”_ _

__“Is there anything to be gained in hanging around, waiting for them to catch on to us?” Claire pointed out pragmatically. “The quicker we wrap this up, the quicker we can be out of here.”_ _

__His expression said _Fair enough_ pretty eloquently, and to Karen, he said “We’ll miss you over at Rand.” She rolled her eyes. _ _

__“You didn’t even see me over there, _Nielsen_.” Before Matt could make a crack about not seeing her at all, she said, “Shut up, Matt.” _ _

__He smiled. “Didn’t say anything.”_ _

__Elektra stretched her arms out before her and cracked her knuckles. “I hope Rand does something more interesting today. Unless you’d like me to follow Ward Meachum, instead?” She gave Ben a hopeful look._ _

__Ben shook his head. “No point. According to his schedule, he’s got meetings at the Rand Enterprises building all day. We’ll keep an eye on him on this end, see if that Jones woman shows up. You keep an eye out for her on your end.”_ _

__She sighed. “All right. Another day of watching Danny Rand flirt with a dojo owner and buy expensive coffee. Clearly the best use of my time and skill.”_ _

__Karen was genuinely surprised she was even agreeing to do it; Elektra gave off an energy like a caged tiger, and Karen got the feeling she didn’t do a lot of things she wasn’t interested in these days. “I put a tracker on Jones’s phone,” she offered._ _

__“Of course you did,” Claire groaned, but Karen refused to feel guilty about it. This was what she brought to the team. This was the area she felt confident._ _

__To Elektra, she said, “Say the word and I’ll update you on where she is.”_ _

__“I suppose knowledge is power,” said Elektra blandly._ _

__“Only kind that matters,” Karen agreed._ _

__Joy Meachum wasn’t any less polite than she had been the previous day, but even Karen, who didn’t have super senses or experience as a con man, could hear that she was more suspicious than she had been. “Mr. Nielsen,” she said. “How nice to see you again. So soon.”_ _

__“Ms. Meachum,” Foggy said, having adopted his Fulton Nielsen voice. “I got in touch with Al Connelly, as you suggested, and it really didn’t take much time to get through the approval paperwork, seeing as how it wasn’t particularly thorough or detailed.”_ _

__It was true enough—Al Connelly was a longtime friend of Harold Meachum’s and seemed to have a lot of money for a pencil-pusher, so it surprised nobody on the team that he’d red-stamped the Rand project without a lot of fanfare._ _

__“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” said Joy, concern in her voice. _Yeah,_ thought Karen, _you better be concerned._ “Mr. Connelly always struck me as completely professional. But even if there are problems with his paperwork, surely that’s a problem with EPA procedure rather than Rand’s compliance.” _ _

__“I 100% agree with you, Ms. Meachum! It absolutely is a problem with EPA procedure. Which is why I’m arranging for another inspection of the facility. I’m here to consult with you as to how and when would be most convenient for you and your colleagues.” Consult, Foggy had told them earlier, was code for ‘bribe’—given how many hazardous accidents the company had been involved in while still being marked as compliant with EPA and OSHA regulations, he felt pretty confident that they were familiar with the lingo._ _

__“I see.” Joy’s voice was still polite, even friendly, but there was something distinctly cold underneath. “Well, as I’m sure you can imagine, we’re all very busy over here, but let me consult with my assistant and the head of the Staten Island facility to see when we can schedule an inspection.”_ _

__“Appreciate it.” Foggy’s voice was so smarmy, Karen wanted to smack him—Joy Meachum was clearly possessed of a higher degree of self-control than your average person. She must have left the room, though, because in a lower, more normal voice, Foggy added, “Pretty sure she’s checking up on me. Your play, Doris.”_ _

__Doris brightened up. Sure enough, the phone line to the EPA office that Karen had cut into started ringing. “EPA, Office of Enforcement and Compliance Assurance, Sandra speaking,” she said._ _

__“Oh.” Joy paused, taken aback. “I thought this extension was Al’s, Al Connelly.”_ _

__“I’m afraid Al’s out of the office at the moment. I’m his supervisor,” said Doris calmly. And if Joy tried to look it up, that was exactly what the website would say. “Is there anything I can help with?”_ _

__While Doris walked the fine line between convincing Joy that Foggy was in fact a legitimate EPA employee and reassuring her in couched terms that bribery was still on the table, Karen and Claire turned their attentions to Matt._ _

__“You still have the bugs I gave you, right?” Karen asked, nervous. Matt might not have been worried about heading back to the 31st floor, but sending him there by himself to plant surveillance and get information from their computers didn’t sit all that well with her._ _

__“Yes, Karen, I have them,” said Matt, sounding profoundly long-suffering._ _

__“What’s the computer situation like in there?” Claire asked. “Shockingly enough, the mysterious crime floor doesn’t have a lot of detail on our floor plans.”_ _

__Matt paused, listening. “Hmm. Surprisingly few computers, actually. A lot of the space doesn’t seem to be offices. There’s…I don’t know, maybe workshops or labs. I’d say maybe a dozen computers for the whole floor, but one of them’s huge.”_ _

__“A mainframe?” said Karen, perking up. That suggested large-scale processing, almost certainly the center of whatever illegal businesses were being run out of the floor._ _

__“Sure,” said Matt agreeably. “Want me to plug one of your autosave drives into it?”_ _

__Karen smiled. “ _Definitely_. Pull up the camera on the handheld comm.” _ _

__After a moment, a picture appeared, dim and yellow-ish. It wasn’t the camera, though—Karen would have been embarrassed to give a teammate a gadget with picture quality that lousy. It was just that Matt was in what looked like a faintly lit closet. “Where are you?” asked Claire._ _

__“File room,” said Matt. “It’s full of paper files, but God knows I’m the wrong man to find out if there’s anything important in here. The mainframe’s not too far down the hall, but there’s a couple of women having a meeting in the office across the hall right now. I’m waiting them out.”_ _

__“Well, while you’re all fucking around in the actual company we’re taking down, you’ll be happy to know that Colleen—that’s the dojo owner’s name, by the way—is warming up to Danny Rand,” said Elektra, sounding frustrated. “At this rate, perhaps she’ll be his Valentine.”_ _

__Ben shook his head. “Wow. Do they really want Rand out of the way so badly they’re willing to pay him a multimillion dollar salary to just wander around?”_ _

__“Probably costs less than another drug rollout at a loss,” Claire pointed out._ _

__“True,” Ben conceded. “How about our private eye, Jessica Jones? You see her there, Elektra?”_ _

__“Not at the moment. Wait—oh, yes, there she is. I think the question of whom she’s following has been pretty well answered. If she can even see me from her position, I’d be shocked.”_ _

__“All right,” said Ben. “So Rand’s the target. But who’s the employer—one of the Meachums? And what’s the goal? What do they think he’s up to?”_ _

__Claire blew a huff of air out, sending a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. The expression of exasperated resignation on her face made Karen smile. “Hell, maybe he’s the Staten Island mastermind after all. Or maybe they want to make sure he doesn’t spill the beans.”_ _

__“Hey,” Matt interrupted, “I’m in the mainframe room. You want me to grab the data?” The handheld comm camera now showed a high-end mainframe computer, humming away happily._ _

__Karen took a moment to admire it before saying, “Yeah, go for it.”_ _

__Doris hung up the phone with Joy and said, “Hang on, how long will it take to copy all that data?”_ _

__“Depends, but probably a while,” Karen said._ _

__“And how much of it’s gonna be relevant to the Staten Island plant?” Doris asked. “We don’t have the time to go after everything it sounds like this Hand is involved in, not if we’re keeping Foggy’s cover intact. And I don’t like the idea of Matt stranded on that floor, waiting for files to transfer.”_ _

__“It’s not rocket science, Mrs. Urich,” said Matt, sounding irritated but a hell of a lot less irritated than he probably would have sounded with any of the rest of them. “I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”_ _

__“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Foggy broke in, “but Joy’s not biting. I think I’m gonna meet the big man himself pretty soon—she’s asked me to wait while she arranges a meeting with her father. I think we pushed too fast on this.” He swore softly. “I literally never have this problem when I work alone, by the way.”_ _

__Karen bit at her thumbnail. It hadn’t exactly been exciting yesterday, sitting in her cubicle downloading files, but at least she’d been there. Here, sitting in a building across the street, she felt useless, distant from the action. She suddenly had a lot more sympathy for Elektra._ _

__As if summoned by the thought to quash any potential sympathy, Elektra’s voice came over the earpieces, brusque and impatient. “What are you so worried about? I thought you could talk your way out of anything.”_ _

__“I _can_ ,” said Foggy, sounding more like himself than like Fulton Nielsen, “but I do like to have a _little_ more time to prep.” _ _

__“Well, of course you do.” That was Doris. “I imagine there’s a lot of research in your line of work, no matter how good you are at improvisation.”_ _

__“Yes, _thank you_!” _ _

__“Hush,” Elektra said. “Oh, this is more like it.”_ _

__“What?” Matt and Karen spoke at the same time._ _

__“Colleen Wing is talking with Danny Rand about the lawsuit. He…hmm. He thinks they should settle, if the plant is actually causing cancer. She thinks the board of directors isn’t going to care about that. She’s right, by the way. He’s frustrated that Ward and Joy aren’t backing him when he talks to Harold about it. She’s wondering what’s the point of having all the shares and the position he holds with the company if he can’t use them for anything.” A hint of a smile entered her voice. “I think I like her.”_ _

__“I think the coast is clear,” said Matt. “I mean, sorry to interrupt, but the women seem to be done with their meeting.”_ _

__Ben took off his glasses to wipe them on his shirt. “Okay. Elektra, sounds promising—why don’t you go ahead and see if you can get recordings of the conversation for later. Matt, go ahead and get the data off the mainframe, but be careful.”_ _

__“Hi, you must be Mr. Nielsen, from the EPA.”_ _

__Karen hadn’t heard that voice before, at least not like this, out of the context of a press conference or interview. She was starting to feel…tense, but not in an excited way, in a stressed way. “Is that…”_ _

__“I’m Harold Meachum, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”_ _

__“Mr. Meachum!” Foggy was back in Nielsen mode, sounding genuinely relaxed. “I’ve heard a lot about you! This clean energy project is your brainchild, isn’t it?”_ _

__“It is. You know, back in the eighties and nineties, when we were building this company up, it was all ‘ozone layer’ this and ‘aerosols’ that, and we thought we were all very cutting edge and environmentally friendly. Weren’t quite keeping track of our carbon footprint. But these days, with climate change, and Stark and Pym making all these great discoveries…well, you’ve got to get with the times, right?”_ _

__“Oh, absolutely,” said Foggy. “And by all accounts you’ve been great about following the regulations on this stuff, which, I get it, they’re really complicated these days. Kudos to you. But this stuff with the heart cancer….”_ _

__“Of course, of course, you have to look into it. I completely understand. Due diligence.” Karen recognized Harold Meachum’s voice from press conferences where he talked about breakthroughs, interviews where he teared up about his wife and the Rands, commercials where he talked about the good his company did. There had always been something just a little off about him, she’d thought, a little fake, but she’d never quite been able to put her finger on it. Listening to him talk now, though, she thought she understood—he said ‘due diligence’ like he meant ‘going through the motions,’ like he didn’t get why anyone would actually care about people with heart cancer, it was just something people pretended to care about to be polite. She felt some of her anxiety harden into anger. What an asshole._ _

__“Um, guys?” said Matt._ _

__Foggy made a noise of agreement. “Exactly. But it’s not like the EPA is here to stand in the way of clean energy intiatives. Far from it! So I think if we can work together on this—”_ _

__“You know what I think?” said Harold Meachum. “I don’t think you’re from the EPA. I know a lot of people there, and I asked around. Couple of people knew your name, but never as someone they knew from in-person meetings. Never as someone they’d worked with.”_ _

__“Well,” said Foggy, “I did recently get transferred—”_ _

__“Transferred back to the New York area, I heard.”_ _

__“Oh, _fuck me_ ,” Elektra said. _ _

__“ _Guys_.” Matt’s voice was more insistent. _ _

__Ben rolled his eyes. “In case you couldn’t tell, we’re having a bit of a problem here, Matt.”_ _

__“Now who have we here?” Karen didn’t know that voice, but it sounded like an older woman, amused. “Our visitor from yesterday.”_ _

__“Matt,” she asked carefully. “Is that the woman you said was the head of the Hand?”_ _

__“ _Yeah._ ” _ _

__On Foggy’s end, Harold Meachum’s voice was getting louder, as if he were getting closer. As if he were pressing his way into Foggy’s personal space. On Matt’s end, the sound of scuffling. On Elektra’s end— _gunshots_? _ _

__“ _Elektra_ ,” Claire snapped, “are you all right?” _ _

__“I’m a little fucking _busy_ ,” Elektra snapped back. _ _

__“Oh my God.” Karen took a deep breath, but couldn’t stop herself from repeating, “Oh my God.”_ _

__“Now, I don’t know whether you’re really from the EPA or not,” Meachum was saying casually. “Maybe you are. Maybe you’ve been hired by the plaintiffs in this suit—wouldn’t surprise me. Or maybe you’re a vulture looking for quick cash in the form of bribes. Doesn’t matter. The bottom line is, you’re either going to bring some probable cause to search our facility, or you’re going to leave. Or, option three, I _make_ you leave.” _ _

__“Wow, okay,” said Foggy. “Sorry to bother you. Think I’m going to go with option two.”_ _

__On Matt’s end of the line, Karen could hear glass breaking. On Elektra’s, grunts of exertion, shouts of pain. On Foggy’s end, Harold Meachum stepped back. “Good idea,” he said._ _

__***_ _

__“Great,” said Claire, her voice trembling with anger as she plucked gravel out of a raw, angry-looking wound on Elektra’s forearm. “That’s just great. Yesterday, we do office work. Today, Foggy’s cover gets blown, Elektra gets shot at by God only knows who, and Matt gets made by heroin dealers and jumps down an elevator shaft.”_ _

__“I wouldn’t say I jumped down it, exactly,” said Matt, who was sitting to one side nursing a sprained arm. He’d skinned his palms, probably on the elevator cables, and somehow broken a couple of ribs in his escape from the 31st floor, but none of it seemed to bother him._ _

__It bothered the hell out of Karen._ _

__“‘God only knows who,’” Elektra mocked. “I can fucking narrow it down. Subpar mob hitmen, with terrible aim and no coordination—that’s Fisk’s MO. And if Danny Fucking Rand hadn’t decided to break out his kung fu skills and distract me, I could have _proven_ it.” She shook her head in disgust. “And now the cops have them. Fantastic.” _ _

__“Fisk?” Doris’s eyes, hooded with worry, darted sharply at Ben. “That’s the guy who hired you the first time around, right? The one who tried to have you killed?”_ _

__“Through a couple of intermediaries,” Ben said. “God _damn_ it.” _ _

__“Well, we don’t _know_ it’s Fisk,” Karen pointed out. “I mean, those hitmen could just as easily have been after—after Jessica Jones, or Danny Rand.” _ _

__“It doesn’t matter who they were after.” Ben set his jaw and shook his head. “Whoever it was, we’re pulling out.”_ _

__“The _hell_ we are.” Elektra stood up, jerking her arm out of Claire’s grasp. Claire reached for it again, but Elektra shoved her away with the wounded forearm, and Claire stumbled back a few steps. She steadied herself, her mouth tightening with anger, but Elektra didn’t seem to notice. “If the _second_ we show up in New York again, Fisk is already gunning for us, he needs to be taken care of.” _ _

__Matt raised an eyebrow. “Taken care of like killing him, or…?”_ _

__“ _Yes_ , Matthew, taken care of like killing him!” _ _

__“Are you kidding me right now?” Claire asked, her arms crossed over her chest. “You just about got killed today, and now you’re gonna break into a maximum security prison to kill a mob boss? Good luck with that.”_ _

__“I did _not_ just about get killed,” Elektra said, tossing her hands up in a gesture of frustration like this was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. “But the longer Fisk breathes, the more danger all of us are in.” _ _

__Foggy, who’d been sitting in the corner with a clenched jaw, brushed his hands off on his pants and stood up. “Fuck that. I didn’t sign up for that—for you to go off on some half-cocked assassination mission. I didn’t sign up for any of this amateur hour bullshit. The whole thing was rushed from beginning to end, we’ve been made by just about everyone involved plus random heroin dealers and private investigators we didn’t even know were involved, and I’ve got better things to do.” He walked over to the coat rack—the coat rack Karen had just bought for their new offices—pulled his suit jacket down off of it, and began putting it on._ _

__“No!” Karen rushed forward to grab him by the arm. It was all falling apart, faster even than she’d feared. “Don’t—don’t just take off, we have to decide what to do about this!”_ _

__He stared at her hand on his arm before pulling it off him with his other hand. Karen let him. “What’s to decide?” he said roughly. “Ben said it. We’re pulling out.”_ _

__“I don’t recall electing Ben the dictator of this little arrangement,” Elektra said, levelling a glare first at Foggy and then at Ben. “If my life is at risk, _I_ call the shots.” _ _

__“Not if it puts us at risk, too,” said Ben tersely. “Foggy’s right. We went too fast here, we didn’t do due diligence.” _Karen_ didn’t do due diligence, he didn’t say, but Karen felt a silent reproach like a punch to the gut. She’d been the one to do the bulk of the background research on this job. She’d missed a lot of complications she hadn’t even known to look for. Dread and anger and self-hate roiled in her stomach as Ben continued, “I don’t think we can do any good here, and we’re likely to get ourselves killed.” He made a face. “Hell, I don’t know, maybe we can leak some of the info we pulled to a press outfit later, but for right now, I think we go our separate ways and lay low.” _ _

__Karen felt like an overfull balloon, like she was going to pop at any moment. “Maybe you can go, Ben. But I’m not going anywhere.”_ _

__“Me neither,” said Matt. “We came here to get justice for those cancer patients, and I’m not leaving until we do.” It might have been useless—he couldn’t see it anyway—but Karen couldn’t help but send him a grateful smile._ _

__Claire groaned. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. What the hell do you think you two are going to accomplish? There are literal _hired killers_ after us, you heard Elektra.” _ _

__“Don’t pull _me_ into this,” Elektra shot back. “I’m not cutting and running.” _ _

__“Cutting and running?” Claire narrowed her eyes._ _

__“I wouldn’t put it quite that way,” said Foggy, now looking less angry and more concerned._ _

__Elektra scoffed. “However you want to put it. I know my professional reputation doesn’t mean a thing to any of you, but people actually do hire me on the understanding that I’m going to be able to think on my feet when a plan goes south, not run like a coward.”_ _

__If looks could kill, Elektra would have been a smoldering ruin, because Claire looked like she was about to send death rays out of her eyes. “Well, you know what, you can go ahead and call me a coward if you want, but I never made a living breaking into buildings or killing people before. Not everybody here is a professional criminal, and we are _clearly_ out of our depth here. This is _batshit_ , and I’m not getting killed because you guys dragged me into some—some quest for revenge, or redemption, or whatever the hell this is about.” _ _

__“Now, I think we all better sit for a second and calm down,” said Doris, but for once, Matt wasn’t paying attention to her, squaring his shoulders and clenching his fists as he turned to face Claire._ _

__He fixed her with a hard look that wasn’t any less intimidating because it didn’t quite meet her face, and said, “Dragged? Who dragged whom here, Claire? Because if I’m remembering correctly, you and Mr. Urich did the recruiting the first time, and you and Karen did the recruiting this time. I think _you’ve_ been doing the dragging, so don’t act like any of us put a gun to your head. We may be the criminals here, but you’ve been a part of this from the beginning. I don’t think you get to judge our reasons for being here.” _ _

__Claire’s mouth moved soundlessly. Finally she swallowed and said, her voice tense and trembling, “Obviously I made a couple of bad decisions here. But that doesn’t mean I have to keep making them. We said anyone could walk away at any time—well, this is me walking away.” She turned and left, pushing through the door where Karen had just put the Counterweight nameplate._ _

___No._ Karen darted through the door. “Claire, don’t leave like this.” She knew she sounded pathetic, begging like a child, but she couldn’t help it. “Please—let’s stay and talk through this. Come on.” _You were the first one to think this was a good idea,_ she wanted to say. _I can’t do this without you._ _ _

__The silence was like a physical presence as Claire met Karen’s eyes. The hot emotion of before seemed to have drained out of her; her face as she looked at Karen was sad, almost, her mouth twisted downward and grimly unhappy. “I don’t know what’s to talk about, Karen,” she said. “This whole thing’s blowing up in our faces. Everything we do turns up more shit, but there’s no angle of attack for actually _fixing_ anything. We…we bit off more than we could chew. My mom’s here, I’ve got to _live_ here, and I can’t—I can’t do this.” She shrugged helplessly. “Sorry.” _ _

__She waited for a moment expectantly, as if she thought Karen would have some argument to persuade her, but she didn’t. She just felt tired. “Fine,” she said. “Whatever. I didn’t need a team to hack the CIA. I can do this by myself.” Her eyes burned, and she tried to blink away the sting as she turned to walk back to the office, but no tears fell. Of course no tears fell. Karen was a world-class hacker, the kind that kept FBI cyber-security teams on their toes, the kind that changed the world with no one ever the wiser. She didn’t need a nurse, or a reporter, or a con man or a burglar or an assassin, or anyone. Anything she wanted to do, she could do._ _

__In the office, it was as if Karen and Claire had taken all the air from the room when they left: Ben and Doris were having a discussion in lowered voices, but they sounded more exhausted than intense; Foggy was typing something on his phone; Elektra was running her thumb over the stitches in her arm that Claire had just put in, and Matt was fiddling with a combination lock. On Karen’s entrance, Foggy stood. “Well,” he said. “This was fun. A real party.”_ _

__“You’re taking off, then?” Karen’s voice sounded dead to her own ears._ _

__Foggy shrugged. “Look, it’s nothing personal. And it wasn’t a bad idea. The thing is, though, we’re all coming at this from such different angles. What you do isn’t running a long con, and what I do isn’t breaking in and out of skyscrapers. It’s just…mutual incompatibility.” To Karen’s mild shock, he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “Look me up if you want to do another stock market hack,” he said. “That was fun.” He pulled away to wave to the rest of the group. “See you around, folks. Always a pleasure.”_ _

__“If you’re going, leave,” said Elektra viciously, but Doris stepped forward to shake Foggy’s hand._ _

__“Don’t be so quick to run off,” she said. “Ben’s cooking breakfast tomorrow._ _

__“No shit,” said Foggy, giving Ben a look of mild surprise._ _

__Doris gave him a tired smile. “If we’re splitting up, we ought to at least make sure we pull up our stakes the right way.”_ _

__“What are you making?”_ _

__Ben rolled his eyes. “Damned if I know. Don’t come before 9:30.”_ _

__“Yeah, not sure I’ll be coming at all, but thanks for the invite.” He huffed out a laugh. “Stay safe.”_ _

__“You too,” said Ben more seriously. Foggy nodded and turned to leave, his dress shoes clicking against the freshly cleaned floors._ _

__Matt cocked his head at the open door and set aside his combination lock. “I’ve got things to do. I’ll be around.”_ _

__“Will you be at breakfast tomorrow?” asked Doris, her voice suggesting that he’d better, if he knew what was good for him._ _

__He gave her a little half-smile. “I’ll try, Mrs. Urich.” To Karen, he said, “Hold on to all that financial data. Push comes to shove, we can do a little blackmail.” He handed her the flash drive she’d given him earlier in the day. “I don’t know if there’s much on there—I had to pull it out before it was done, but I don’t know, maybe there’ll be something useful.”_ _

__Karen curled her fingers around the drive and dropped in her pocket. “I’ll take a look.”_ _

__“Okay,” he said, not sounding wildly optimistic about it. With a nod at Elektra and then another at the Urichs, he vanished down the hall Foggy had just left through._ _

__Elektra wasted no time before pulling out a knife—the suddenness of the weapon’s appearance made Karen jerk back for a moment, but Elektra had only been getting it out to sharpen it, and though the sound of the sharpening stone against the blade got under Karen’s skin, making the hair on her arms stand on end, the flood of adrenaline calmed down. Totally unaware of Karen’s there-and-gone panic, Elektra cast her gaze on Ben and Doris, her brow drawn in serious lines. “What’s the security like at your apartment?” she asked._ _

__“Doorman,” Ben said, sounding like he’d been prepared for the question. “There’s security cameras in the elevator and by the fire exits.”_ _

__“That’s it?” Elektra asked sharply. “No safe room?”_ _

__Ben sighed, suddenly looking older than he usually did. “No,” he said. “But I don’t know that we’ll be there for long.”_ _

__Elektra nodded slowly. “Yes, I think that’s for the best.”_ _

__Doris rubbed at her eyes. “Ben, I don’t—I’m having a hard time following what’s going on right now, where’s—”_ _

__“It’s been a long day,” said Ben, taking Doris’s hand in his own. “You’re okay, sweetheart.” He dug a pill bottle out of Doris’s purse._ _

__“Oh,” said Karen, “let me grab you a water.” She took one from the mini-fridge in the office lounge and handed it to Ben, and he thanked her wearily._ _

__“It…I won’t say it was a good idea, Karen, because it was reckless as hell, but your heart was in the right place,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry it had to end this way.”_ _

__Karen swallowed. It hurt._ _

__The walk back to her hotel wasn’t long, but it felt it. Though the chairs and bed were soft and the wine she got out of the minibar clearly expensive and high-quality, it was hard to appreciate the luxury once she’d settled in. All of the day’s tensions had somehow curdled, leaving her shaky and vaguely nauseated as she pulled up Matt’s flash drive and tried to get something useful off it._ _

__It was such a goddamned mess. The Meachums and all their bullshit. The Hand, whoever the fuck they were. The hitmen who’d gone after Elektra today. There was corruption and deception and violence everywhere, but trying to zoom in on the line that led to the Staten Island plant was like trying to grab a stuffed animal with one of those claws at the arcade. Prizes everywhere, but no way to get a grip on any of them. Not that anything involved could be considered a prize. She snorted and took another sip of wine._ _

__Someone knocked at the door. Karen stiffened. She hadn’t ordered room service, and housekeeping had long since finished their work. She thought she’d covered her tracks well, reserving this hotel room, but who the hell knew? All bets were off now. She carefully, quietly reached for the gun in her purse, which she’d thrown on the chair next to her, and made sure the safety was off. “Who is it?” she called, positioning herself so that the door would be between her and whoever entered the room._ _

__“It’s Claire,” said the voice on the other side of the door, and Karen let out a quavery breath and looked through the peephole. Yep, sure enough, it was Claire, no one holding a gun to her head, no FBI agents or mob hitmen lying in wait behind her to grab Karen. Karen pulled the chain off the door and opened it._ _

__“Come in,” she said, more because she felt exposed with the door open than because she really wanted Claire to come in._ _

__It seemed that Claire had picked up on that, because her posture as she walked in was hesitant, her satchel held between her hands in front of her like a shield._ _

__“Since when do you carry a gun?” she asked, her face alarmed._ _

__Karen sighed and returned it to her purse. “Protection,” she said shortly._ _

__“Yeah,” Claire said. “I guess I can see that.”_ _

__“What’s up?” Karen asked. “You’re all right, you haven’t been visited by our friendly neighborhood hitmen or anything?”_ _

__“No, nothing like that, I’m fine.” She looked around the room, as if to avoid Karen’s eyes, before squaring her shoulders and meeting Karen’s gaze straight-on. “Look. I think I didn’t really express myself that well back there. I’m not—I’m not blaming you for coming up with the team idea. I really did think it was—I mean, I knew it was nuts, but I liked it anyway, the idea of taking on that shitty company, and I didn’t mean to call you….”_ _

__What, Karen wondered? Criminals? It was true. She hadn’t felt insulted by what Claire had said, so much as abandoned. “It’s fine,” she said._ _

__“No, it isn’t.” Claire looked at the ceiling, pressing her lips together. “Can I sit down or something?”_ _

__Karen shrugged. “Sure,” she said. “You want something to drink?”_ _

__“I shouldn’t,” Claire said. “But do you have anything hard? I don’t know, vodka or something?”_ _

__“Make you a screwdriver?” Karen offered, and Claire nodded._ _

__“Sounds great.” While Karen pulled out a vodka from the minibar, and a little orange juice bottle she’d gotten from the vending machine, Claire settled herself on the couch, still looking as if she might flee at any moment._ _

__“You know I have to look out for my mom,” she said softly, and Karen felt unreasonably angry._ _

__Of course Claire had to look after her mother. Because Claire and her mother had a great relationship—they were nice normal people who cared for the sick and made delicious empanadas and didn’t worry about living one step ahead of law enforcement or hitmen. Because who the hell did? Nobody but people like Karen. She set the screwdriver down on the coffee table in front of Claire, harder than she’d meant to. “I know,” she said, and then, because that had come out too harshly, “I understand, Claire.”_ _

__“I don’t think you do, Karen. I just—when we started this, you were just a name in a file to me—not even a real name, your _codename_ , which is just ridiculous—” _ _

__“It’s not ridiculous,” Karen broke in. The Pagemaster had been Karen’s favorite movie the year it came out. Karen’s parents had only ever let them see G-rated movies, and not even those very often, but the idea of a movie about books had appealed to them, and the whole family had gone to see it for her sister Kelly’s birthday. She had good memories of it even now. Plus, the pun with her name had been hard to resist. _ _

__Claire rolled her eyes. “It’s a little ridiculous,” she said. “But that’s not the point. The point is—it’s not just that I don’t want to get hurt, and that I don’t want my mom to get hurt. I don’t want you to get hurt either—any of you, not just Ben and Doris.”_ _

__Karen sighed. “I can take care of myself, Claire,” she said, though she kind of hoped she wouldn’t have to until she’d had a good night’s sleep. Even if she hadn’t been in the middle of the action herself, it had been a hell of a day._ _

__“Yeah,” said Claire with a slightly hysterical laugh. She took a long swig of her screwdriver. “Of course you can. Because you do shit like hacking the CIA, and God knows you don’t need help from someone like me.”_ _

__Though Karen had said exactly the same thing earlier in the day, somehow the words hurt coming from Claire. “That’s not true,” she said, sitting down next to Claire on the couch and letting her thigh bump into Claire’s. “I would never have been able to bring the rest of the crew on board if it wasn’t for you. And I’m so glad you were there to look after Matt and Elektra tonight. Things are more…more dangerous than I realized, and having a nurse around has really been a godsend.”_ _

__Claire laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Yeah,” she said, “I’ve been real helpful. And if Elektra really goes after Fisk in prison, or Matt does…whatever the fuck Matt does when he’s pissed and trapped in a corner, I’m sure I’ll be _unbelievably_ helpful doing the burial arrangements.” _ _

__“It’s not gonna come to that,” Karen said, her voice low, studying Claire’s face. Karen liked Matt and Elektra a lot, as uncomfortable as they made her sometimes, but at that moment, she wished them long lives not for their own sakes, but so that her words to Claire would be proven true, so that Claire would never have to help put them in the ground. Or any of the rest of them. “We’re gonna find out who’s behind that attack on Elektra today, and we’re gonna lean on Danny Rand and Ward Meachum to find out what’s going on at the Staten Island plant, and we’re gonna get justice for those heart cancer patients. I promise.”_ _

__For a long moment, Claire just stared. Karen could see the thoughts moving behind her eyes as she looked at Karen, but what she was thinking…Karen wouldn’t even have ventured a guess. Finally, Claire picked up her screwdriver to take a long sip of it, said, “Ah, fuck it,” as if to herself, and then leaned forward to kiss Karen._ _

__Karen kissed back automatically, but only for a moment. A thousand voices in her head were crying out simultaneously—a few left over from childhood screaming about sin and sodomy, but most of them asking _What the hell?_ She pulled back. “Claire, what are you doing?” _ _

__“I’m sorry,” said Claire. “I just thought—”_ _

__“What?” Karen wondered why Claire wasn’t answering, and then she realized that she’d been stroking Claire’s thigh without even being aware of it. She stopped and pulled her hand away, immediately missing the closeness and warmth and the texture of Claire’s jeans under her hands. “What did you think?” she repeated._ _

__“I thought I didn’t want to be alone tonight,” said Claire. “I don’t know, I think I’m gonna shake out of my skin. I called my mom earlier and she asked me if someone died. I guess I must have sounded pretty bad. I just—everything feels crazy right now, and I just don’t want to be alone.”_ _

__They should have talked more about it. Karen should have sat back and weighed the pros and cons. Jumping into things headfirst was why they were in their current predicament—because Karen had been too impatient, thought she’d had everything under control when she hadn’t. But Claire was right next to her, and Karen was goddamned sick of going over the events of this godawful day in her mind. Like Claire had said, fuck it. “Me neither,” said Karen, reaching out to cup Claire’s cheek in her hand and kissing her again._ _

__Claire’s hand made its way to Karen’s lower back, working their way up her shirt, and God, Karen had been right every time she stared at Claire’s hands and thought about how soft and smooth and skilled they looked, because her touch was like a line of fire on Karen’s skin, raising hot feelings she’d kind of forgotten. Karen grasped Claire’s face and deepened the kiss, giving herself over to the feeling, falling—_ _

__“Hey,” said Claire, pulling away. “Sorry, you’ve got—”_ _

__It took Karen a moment to realize what had happened. In her exploration of Karen’s back, Claire had found the scar from when her dad had spanked her with a belt when she was ten and the buckle had cut. Karen shuddered, not from any kind of erotic feeling but with a profound sense of dread and misery. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said in a low voice._ _

__Claire’s eyes met Karen’s. “I don’t want to talk at all,” she said, and reached forward to kiss Karen again, more gently this time._ _

__But Karen didn’t want gentle. She wanted fire. She wanted those hands on her again, and as if to demonstrate what it was she was asking for, she grasped Claire’s hips and pulled their bodies together, making a line of heat where they touched._ _

__Claire groaned into her mouth, her hands moving to Karen’s back again and squeezing. Maybe they wanted the same thing after all._ _

__They were both desperate as they made their way to the bed, neither willing to pull away from the other long enough to take her clothes off or look to see where they were going. They stumbled over stray computer parts, a suitcase, a pair of shoes as they made their way to the bed. Karen didn’t care. Claire was warm and solid and there, her hands moving frantically over Karen’s arms and back and her mouth kissing a clumsy line across Karen’s face. She tasted like orange juice, she smelled like antiseptic. She was perfect._ _

__Though they hadn’t quite managed to get Claire’s jeans off by the time they fell onto the bed, Karen had managed to get a hand down the front of her panties, clumsily moving them aside to feel for Claire’s clit. Claire groaned into her mouth. “Fuck, Karen, lemme—” She wiggled her way out of her jeans and rested her forehead on Karen’s shoulder, while Karen, whose hand had been dislodged while Claire got out of the jeans, went back to rubbing at Claire with firm circles, the way she herself liked to be touched there._ _

__“Claire,” Karen managed to get out. “Claire, is this okay?”_ _

__“Mmm,” said Claire in agreement. “Can you—” Without finishing the sentence, she moved Karen’s other hand from where it had gotten tangled in Claire’s hair to her breast. Karen got the idea—even through Claire’s bra, she could feel the other woman react to her touch. Claire pulled away from Karen’s shoulder and fixed her with a brilliant grin._ _

__“That—that’s it. Right there.”_ _

__“Always was a quick learner,” Karen gasped, breathless._ _

__They were both tired, and it took Karen a while to reach orgasm at the best of times, which this certainly wasn’t. But for a span of time that felt timeless but was probably about twenty minutes, Karen rubbed at the warm, wet place where Claire’s legs met, and Claire kissed her way down Karen’s neck and breasts and got a thigh in between Karen’s legs for her to rub up against, and hitmen and Rand Enterprises and whatever the fuck “Diamondback” from Matt’s flash drive was and everything in the world that wasn’t the two of them just vanished. Claire got those wonderful hands down where her thigh had been, adding a lighter, softer touch to the pressure from before, and Karen let go._ _

__Claire orgasmed after another minute or so with a short, sharp gasp of air and collapsed on top of Karen, and Karen felt…content. Cared for, in a way she didn’t usually, even when she was sharing a bed with someone. She could feel Claire reaching a hand down and grasped it—to be touched there right now would be too much._ _

__“You finished?” Claire asked._ _

__“I’m finished,” said Karen, hoping Claire didn’t want a second round. Karen felt…empty, but not in a bad way, everything that had been tight in her before loose and falling to pieces. “I feel good right now.”_ _

__To Karen’s relief—or even joy, she didn’t have the wherewithal to parse her feelings right now—Claire took her at her word and curled into her side, still holding her hand. “I didn’t really mean to do that,” said Claire._ _

__“You regret it?” asked Karen, not sure what she’d do if Claire said yes._ _

__“Nah.”_ _

__They lay in a warm silence for a while, Karen fiddling with Claire’s fingers and Claire stroking her bare foot along Karen’s calf. All of the intense feelings from earlier had mellowed into a kind of fragile golden haze that Karen didn’t feel like investigating too deeply._ _

__“Karen,” said Claire, after a while, and Karen sighed, because Claire’s voice was serious._ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__“I meant what I said earlier. When I went into this, I felt kind of invincible. We won last time, it was like nothing could touch us. But if something happened to you, it would really fucking hurt.”_ _

__Karen swallowed, remembering what it had felt like to believe herself protected. “I feel the same way about you,” she managed to get out._ _

__“Mmm.” Claire rolled over onto her back, so they were no longer pressed so closely against each other. “I keep telling myself the whole thing was stupid. But man, feeling like we could really touch those big companies, the ‘too big to fail’ ones that just do whatever they want—God, that was a powerful feeling.”_ _

__“You’re really talky after sex,” Karen said, keeping her voice light._ _

__“Sorry,” said Claire. “I kind of am. I always feel…kind of light afterward. You can just tell me to shut up if you want.”_ _

__“I don’t want you to shut up.” And it was true. Claire’s voice, her closeness, they were all reminders that Karen wasn’t alone in this. Alone in the world._ _

__“Well. In that case….” She turned her head to face Karen. Karen could see it out of the corner of her eye, and she rolled onto her side to meet Claire’s eyes._ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__“Can I ask…why you did this?”_ _

__Karen frowned, confused. “This....?” She waved a hand between herself and Claire._ _

__“No,” said Claire with a laugh. “The whole ‘get the crew back together’ thing. It’s like you said, you’re this big-time hacker. You’ve got crazy amounts of money, and you could fly under the radar forever. Why…why get the rest of us involved?”_ _

__Why, indeed. Karen squeezed Claire’s hand and bit her lower lip, her eyes unaccountably wet again. She cleared her throat. “I, uh. My brother died when I was in high school.”_ _

__Claire blinked and shifted, moving to sit up without letting go of Karen’s hand. “Jesus,” she said, sounding a lot less sex-hazy. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__“It’s…” She couldn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t. It would never be. “Thank you,” she said instead. “It. Uh. He was in a car with some of his friends. One of them was driving drunk, and he hit a deer with the car. The driver lived, but my brother…he was in the passenger seat. He died.” She looked at ceiling and swallowed hard. She’d never talked to someone about these things before. It was stupid—it wasn’t incriminating to talk about, or even all that unusual, and Ben probably knew it all already. It still hurt._ _

__“That sucks,” said Claire, leaning down to kiss Karen’s shoulder. “I wish I had something smarter to say, but that’s all I got. I’m sorry that happened.”_ _

__“Yeah. Well.” Karen closed her eyes. “The driver was our minister’s son. The town golden boy. He got a slap on the wrist. He even got a lot of sympathy about it at school and church. The poor kid. Imagine how bad he must feel, having someone die right in front of him.” She knew she sounded bitter, but she didn’t give a shit. The disgusting thing was, if it had been some other kid who died in the crash, Karen might have been one of those sympathetic girls. Adam Moorehouse had always been good at wrapping people around his finger, and Karen had never been an exception, until then._ _

__Claire hissed out a breath between her teeth. “Shit.”_ _

__“So I devoted myself to ruining his life. I was good with computers back then, too—not like I am now, but good enough to tear him apart. Him and everyone who covered for him. And by the time I was done, I knew I could never go back to that town.” Claire didn’t need to know all of it, the way her friends had called her a bitch for not letting it go, her parents’ anger, how after a while, she hadn’t even been able to look at herself in the mirror. The way that Karen Page had died with Kevin, how Pagemaster had been born. “Anyway,” she concluded, “I always…as Pagemaster, I always wanted to take down the big bad guys. But I think I forgot about the flip side of that—helping people. Making things better. I liked what I _did_ , but I wanted to like who I _am_ , too. And I feel like I can do that with you.” _ _

__“Well, one thing’s for sure.” Claire’s hand moved to Karen’s hair, lightly combing her fingers through it. “ _I_ like who you are.” Karen turned her face into Claire’s shoulder and tried very hard to believe that. _ _

__Claire didn’t go back to her apartment that night. She slept next to Karen in the king-size bed in Karen’s suite. It seemed perfectly natural to have her there._ _

__But when Karen woke up, the atmosphere seemed…different. The sheets smelled, and were vaguely stiff in parts. The light filtering in around the shades was too harsh and hurt her eyes. And the warm sense of safety and contentment had vanished. She sat up. Claire was sitting in the armchair in the corner of the bedroom, wrestling with her socks. She looked up at Karen._ _

__“Morning,” she said with an awkward little half-smile._ _

__“Morning,” Karen said._ _

__Claire put her foot down, the sock still hanging half-on. “It’s almost nine. We’re gonna have to hustle if we’re gonna make it to breakfast at Ben’s by 9:30.”_ _

__“Are you going to that?” Karen asked. They’d never actually established whether Claire was going to stay on the job._ _

__The half-smile dropped, and Claire shrugged. “Ben’s my friend,” she said. “Don’t see why not.” She lifted her foot again, resting it on her opposite knee as she pulled the sock up, looking at it rather than at Karen. “About last night.”_ _

__“What about it?”_ _

__“I, um.” Claire heaved a sigh. “Look, I’m grateful. I didn’t want to be alone last night, and you were great. But I don’t even—we know each other from carrying out _heists_.” _ _

__“So, what, it just occurred to you that sleeping with a crook is a bad idea?”_ _

__“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Claire said sharply. “All I’m saying is, it’s not exactly the basis for a stable relationship, and I’m not even sure that’s what I’m looking for right now, anyway.”_ _

__Karen shrugged, feeling defensive. “Whatever. I don’t really do monogamous relationships, period.” Hell, being tied down to her crew was confining enough, maybe it was for the best that they’d probably all be breaking up and scattering to the winds._ _

__“Okay then,” said Claire, raising her eyebrows and standing up. “I’m gonna head over there now. The shower’s free.” She walked over to the door of the bedroom, stood for a moment with her hand curled around the door like she was going to pull it shut without the doorknob, then walked out with a floppy little wave of her other hand._ _

__“See you there,” Karen called after her. She rubbed her eyes. Wine headaches were the worst. And sleeping with people you worked with was always supposed to be a terrible idea. Ugh. Karen had been making a lot of mistakes lately._ _

__By the time Karen got to Ben’s, everyone—even Foggy—was already there as Ben lifted slices of quiche onto paper plates. “Wow,” said Karen. “That looks beautiful.” She wasn’t just talking about the quiche. The apartment was Ben and Doris’s from before they’d left town, and it was much more _them_ than the place in Paris had been—full of stacks of books and framed headlines of Ben’s and soft, well-worn furniture. Even having been unlived in for months, Karen thought she could still see Ben and Doris living there for all those years. _ _

__Ben favored her with a dry smile. “Yeah, well. You spend enough time in Parisian patisseries, you pick up a few ideas.” He gestured with his head to an empty chair. “Why don’t you sit yourself down.”_ _

__Claire was seated at the table, very studiously digging into a plastic container of pineapple and cantaloupe. Karen wasn’t sure that she wanted to share space with her right now, so she settled down between Elektra and Foggy on the other side of the table. Foggy poured Karen a cup of coffee, and she thanked him with a smile._ _

__“You looked like you could use some caffeine,” he said good-humoredly. Across the table, Matt frowned and sniffed, turning first to face Claire and then Karen._ _

___Oh, shit,_ thought Karen. Could he _smell_ them on each other or something? “You say anything, Matt,” she said under her breath, hopefully quietly enough so that no one else could hear, “I’ll kill you.” _ _

__Matt cocked an eyebrow at her, pulled a face, and then accepted the fruit container as Claire handed it to him. “Whatever,” he said. “I’ve got some—well, I think it’s good news.”_ _

__“Yes?” said Elektra, spearing a piece of quiche with her fork._ _

__He tapped at the plastic container with his fork, a quick, anxious rhythm. “I talked to some old friends last night. Word on the street is, the guys who went after Elektra yesterday weren’t Fisk’s. I guess he’s been having disputes with some, shall we say, local businessmen, and that particular upstanding group of citizens isn’t working with him or any of his cronies anymore.”_ _

__“Well, that _is_ good news,” said Doris, sipping a glass of orange juice. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of fleeing for my life.” _ _

__“I’d say so, unless Elektra’s got other people after her.” Matt quirked his eyebrows in Elektra’s direction. “Can you think of anyone else who’d be trying to kill you?”_ _

__“None who are currently alive,” Elektra said, snatching the fruit container out of Matt’s hands. “I admit, Matthew, I’m a bit hung up on the part of this story where you have friends.”_ _

__Matt gave her a sardonic smile. “Yeah, well, I’ve been pulling jobs in New York for the better part of twenty years. Even the two-bit pickpockets of the world make a few connections.”_ _

__“Twenty _years_?” said Claire, giving Matt a mildly horrified look. “That’d make you how old? Eleven, twelve?” _ _

__“Mmm,” Matt said noncommittally. Foggy shrugged._ _

__“Best way to build expertise—start young and practice,” he said. “You mind passing the salt, buddy? It’s about six inches from your left hand.”_ _

__“Closer than that,” said Matt, pulling a salt shaker out of his pocket and handing it to Foggy._ _

__Claire shook his head. “You guys are nuts. Well, if it’s not Fisk, I think we have to consider the possibility that the hitmen weren’t after Elektra at all, but Danny Rand.”_ _

__“Or maybe Colleen Wing,” Karen pointed out._ _

__Elektra raised an eyebrow at her. “The girlfriend with the dojo? Really?”_ _

__Karen shrugged. “I saw a couple of YouTube videos with her. Apparently she cage fights for spare cash—I can see her getting on the wrong side of some rough people that way.”_ _

__“That would explain the incompetent hitmen,” Elektra mused, but Matt shook his head._ _

__“Too convenient. The guy’s got a PI after him, the girl’s got hitmen after her at the same time? I don’t know, seems like a hell of a coincidence.”_ _

__“I agree,” said Ben. “Another option—maybe someone’s after Danny and trying to make it look like they’re after Colleen?”_ _

__They all pondered that for a moment. Finally, Elektra said, “That’s absurd, but it makes as much sense as anything else about this job.”_ _

__Ben shook his head and poured himself some coffee. “Whatever’s going on with the Staten Island plant, Danny Rand seems to be smack dab in the middle of _something_ big at that company, and I think we’re close to it.” _ _

__“I’m not sure I get it,” said Foggy. “Rand’s got a significant proportion of the company’s stock, sure, but if the Meachums vote as a block, they beat him hands down. He’s clearly a PR disaster, but they seem to have found a decent solution to _that_ problem by just sending him out to flirt with his girlfriend and keeping him out of the company’s business. Why kill him, and why have him followed?” _ _

__Karen cut a bite off of her piece of quiche and carefully didn’t look at Foggy. “Why do you care?” she asked. “I thought you didn’t want to work with amateurs like us, anyway.”_ _

__There was a pause as everyone turned their attentions to Foggy, and he ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Look,” he said. “Spirits were running pretty high last night. Now, it’s true that you guys have a lot to learn about running a serious con, but you know, it’s not gonna do my professional reputation any good if I cut out on you guys partway through a job. So, you know, whatever.” He set his hand down on the table and took a deep breath before looking up again, the model of a put-together and calm young businessman. “Ben, you seemed pretty keen on breaking up the party yesterday. How are you feeling about it today?”_ _

__“Well,” said Doris, “whatever he decides, I’m still onboard.”_ _

__Ben laid a hand on her arm. “Doris,” he said gently, “you didn’t even remember what happened yesterday this morning.”_ _

__“And then you told me about it, so now I know.” Doris’s posture was stiff, her jaw set in a challenging line. “Ben, you don’t make the calls for me. If this man you pissed off last time was actually after you all, us all, then yeah, I’d say we ought to leave. But it’s seeming more and more like that’s not the case. We barged into this mess, and I think it’d be irresponsible of us to leave before we’ve sorted it all out.”_ _

__“Hear hear,” Karen said, smiling at Doris._ _

__“Ugh,” said Ben. “So much for a quiet retirement. Claire? You sticking around?”_ _

__Claire’s eyes darted, as if against her will, to Karen’s face before she firmly fixed her gaze on Ben. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “But we’re gonna have to come up with a new plan, because I don’t think any of us can show our faces around Rand Enterprises right now. Or, like, ever again.”_ _

__“About that,” said Ben. “Now, you may already have figured all this out, Karen….” Karen looked uncomfortably down at her plate. She hadn’t figured a damn thing out last night. “…But I couldn’t stop myself from doing a little research. It seems that Danny Rand and the Meachums have a ‘family’ brunch every Sunday at Le Bistro Moderne in the Theater District. The way I see it, knowing where all four of them are gonna be at the same time gives us a golden opportunity. First, to see how they interact with each other and what they talk about, and second….”_ _

__“Second, to investigate in their affairs without worrying that they’ll interfere,” said Elektra, smiling like an exceptionally pleased cat._ _

__“Exactly,” said Ben. “Now, Foggy, Matt, and probably Karen have all been compromised—hell, Elektra probably attracted enough attention fighting off those hitmen that she might ring a bell with their security or something. But Karen, if you can arrange it so that Claire and I can get a table at the same time they’re there—”_ _

__“Way I see it, I haven’t been compromised either,” said Doris. “There any reason I’m not coming to brunch tomorrow, beautiful?”_ _

__Ben shook his head with a resigned laugh. “Not a reason in the world, handsome. The three of us go, see what we can pick up. Elektra, why don’t you and Foggy go have a little talk with Jessica Jones, see what she can tell us about why she’s been following Danny Rand.”_ _

__Elektra gave Foggy a dubious look. “And I’m taking him with me because….”_ _

__“Good cop, bad cop,” Foggy offered. “I get it—you turn on the intimidation, I turn on the charm, between the two of us we get what we want to know from Ms. Jones.”_ _

__“All right,” said Elektra. “But if we’re attacked again, you stay out of the way, Nelson. We can’t be sure Jones wasn’t either a target or involved.”_ _

__Foggy lifted his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me twice. I leave the hitting to the people who are good at that kind of stuff.”_ _

__“What am I doing?” Matt asked with a frown._ _

__“And me?” asked Karen, pleased at how much thought Ben had put into a plan but a bit miffed that she hadn’t been involved while he thought it out._ _

__Ben smiled. “Well, one thing that none of us has even tried doing so far is getting a look at the actual facility. Getting some pictures, recordings—hard evidence. I know we’re not nuclear physicists or anything, but you know what, Karen, I think you can probably work out if something isn’t how it’s supposed to be. And the security at the place is probably pretty tight, but that’s what we brought a burglar on board for, right?”_ _

__Matt grinned. “Right.” He turned his face to Karen. “You have blueprints?”_ _

__She grinned back. “I have blueprints.”_ _

__“All right, folks.” Ben sat back in his chair, apparently satisfied, and took a sip of coffee. “I think we have a plan.” More seriously, he added, “We know that someone involved with this case doesn’t mind killing over it. Everyone be careful. If you need to bail at any point, bail.”_ _

__Nods and noises of agreement met this instruction, but Karen had a sneaking suspicion that the time for bailing had passed. She felt a hard, cold core of determination and anger solidify within her. Someone was going to go down before she was finished._ _

__***_ _

__As exciting as breaking into a high-security energy facility was, Karen kind of regretted not being at brunch. God knew Le Bistro Moderne was probably a hell of a lot nicer than sitting outside this grim-looking plant following Matt’s progress via camera. “How’s the smoked salmon Benedict?”_ _

__“Delicious,” Doris pronounced. In a lower voice, she added, “Pretty tense family brunch they’re having over there. Harold’s convinced Danny not to get involved in the police investigation about those gunmen the other day, but that boy looks like he’s champing at the bit to go after them. I get the sense the Meachums spend a lot of time reining him in.”_ _

__“I can’t blame him,” Matt said. “The man did just get attacked in broad daylight by hired killers.”_ _

__“We _think_ ,” said Ben quietly. “No sense in jumping to conclusions until we know the whole story.” _ _

__Claire snorted. “As if that hasn’t been what we’ve been doing this whole time.”_ _

__Karen tapped her fingers on the dashboard of the rental car, bored with speculating. “Matt, where are you?”_ _

__“Past the security guards at the outer perimeter, inside the building, working my way down to the lower level, which seems to be where the more classified stuff happens,” Matt reported. “You want visuals?”_ _

__“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said. “Things are pretty quiet up here.”_ _

__“Don’t get complacent,” Elektra ordered. “You’re supposed to be driving the getaway car.” Apparently to Foggy, she said, “That’s her.”_ _

__“Yep,” Foggy agreed. “We’ve got visuals on Jessica Jones, people—we’re going in.” Before he could add anything, though, he made a wheezing, choking sound, like someone had hit him, or grabbed him by the neck or something. Karen sat up straight, alarmed._ _

__“Let go of him,” said Elektra’s voice over the comms, so full of barely suppressed rage that Karen felt her heart stop in some kind of instinctive panic response. “ _Now._ ” _ _

__Foggy gasped, and an unfamiliar woman’s voice said, “Hey, I know you. You were the one fighting those guys with guns the other day. Over at Wing’s dojo.”_ _

__“That’s me,” Elektra agreed. “And you’re Jessica Jones. I must tell you, you haven’t made a very good impression so far, Miss Jones, what with grabbing my friend and lurking very suspiciously about an assassination attempt on Danny Rand. Why don’t you see if you can explain that to my satisfaction?”_ _

__“Why don’t you eat my ass,” Jones retorted. “You and your friend snuck up on me like a pair of creepers. I don’t owe you jack shit.”_ _

__There was a rustling of fabric, like maybe Foggy was brushing himself off. “Hey, let’s all take a deep breath and take it down a notch,” he said, his voice friendly and conciliatory. “Nobody here’s looking for trouble. We’d just like to talk.”_ _

__Jones snorted. “Talk about what? Your girlfriend’s crazy ninja fight with Dumb and Dumber in the alleyway?”_ _

__“You seem pretty complacent about armed combat happening not twenty feet away from you,” Elektra noted._ _

__“Eh. Seen worse.”_ _

__“As a private investigator, right?” Foggy asked. “Lemme lay our cards on the table here. We’re doing our own investigation on behalf of some parties suing Rand Enterprises over the _extremely_ rare heart cancer that seems to be popping up around their nuclear fusion plant on Staten Island. We’d just as soon not step on any toes here, but we weren’t really expecting another investigator following Danny Rand.” _ _

__“Huh,” said Jones thoughtfully. “You have PI licenses?”_ _

___Shit,_ thought Karen, _that’s actually a really good idea._ She made a mental note to figure out the best way to get a PI license or seven, whether through legitimate channels or printing them off in her hotel room. _ _

__“Oh, we’re not that kind of investigator,” Foggy said casually. “A lot of law firms keep investigators on retainer to follow up investigative leads law enforcement doesn’t.”_ _

__“Yeah, I know,” Jones said. “I’m _on_ retainer for a big law firm.” After a pause, she said, “So Rand’s really causing this heart cancer shit, huh?” _ _

__“Undoubtedly,” Elektra broke in. “Now if you wouldn’t mind telling us who hired you….”_ _

__Karen could hear Foggy murmur a warning _Elektra_ under his breath—the microphones she’d put in the earpieces were high-quality—but Jessica Jones didn’t seem offended by the question. She grunted and said, “I shouldn’t tell you this, but what the hell, I didn’t sign on to get shot at, either. Joy Meachum hired me.” _ _

__“What for?” asked Foggy, sounding less professional and more curious for a change._ _

__“Eh, the usual when the long-lost heir comes back from the dead and starts fucking things up,” said Jones. “First to make sure he was who he said he was and his story checked out, then once he started making headlines, to tell her if the guy did anything weird.”_ _

__“And did he?” It was Elektra who asked the question, but Karen could feel everyone listening in hold their breaths in anticipation._ _

__Jones made another rude noise. “Guy does nothing _but_ weird shit. If he’s not helping his girlfriend sneak up on her martial arts students, he’s talking to random people on the street about pop culture from the ‘90s or giving his bro Ward the dumbest ass business advice I’ve ever heard, and I know shit about business. But the big thing is that he’s been making late night visits to sneak in to that Staten Island Rand building. Joy thought that was pretty interesting.” _ _

___Interesting why?_ Karen wondered. _Interesting because it’s completely unprofessional and suspicious, interesting because she thinks Rand’s involved in something not on the official plans for the plant, or interesting because she doesn’t want him to find out about her unofficial business there?_ _ _

__“That doesn’t actually surprise me,” Matt said. He sounded like he was talking inside a giant pipe or something—who knew, maybe he was. “The security guys here are really anxious—if they’ve been having break-ins, that would explain a lot.”_ _

__“You all right over there?” Claire asked. Karen was willing to bet she hadn’t touched her fancy brunch since Jones first grabbed Foggy._ _

__“Eh, I’m fine,” said Matt nonchalantly. “Piece of cake.”_ _

__“Uh-huh,” Claire said dryly. “Well, careful about those ribs.”_ _

__Elektra and Foggy seemed to find Rand’s behavior interesting, too. “Do you think Rand found anything incriminating? Because if he did, it might explain why our friends were shooting at him,” Foggy said._ _

__“What, you think Joy Meachum sent those guys?” Jones’s dismissive laugh made it clear what she thought about that idea. “No way. If she was gonna have Rand wacked, she’d have done it way more quietly. No way that woman sends shooters in broad daylight. Hell, she won’t even meet me during the day, you think she wants the face of her company shot up in public? Not great publicity for Rand Enterprises.”_ _

__“Eh,” said Foggy. “That depends on how they spin it. But I take your point, she does strike me as the more subtle type. And you don’t think she’d want to put you at risk of getting killed, right?”_ _

__“Who knows,” Jones said. “But she’s been a pretty good client so far.” She fidgeted—she must have been wearing pretty heavy boots, because Karen could hear her footsteps clunking as she shifted from one foot to another—and said, “We done here? Because I’m technically on the clock right now. Girl’s gotta make a living.”_ _

__“We’re done,” said Elektra. “Try not to get shot.”_ _

__Jones laughed. “Likewise.” Her footsteps clomped away, and Karen let out a deep breath._ _

__“Wow. Okay, that answers some questions.”_ _

__“And raises some others,” said Ben. “Joy didn’t call the hitmen, who did? And why?”_ _

__“And why’s Danny Rand been breaking into the Staten Island plant?” Doris asked. “What do he and Joy know about it?”_ _

__“I can think of one way to answer at least one of those questions. Joy Meachum lives two blocks from here.” Elektra was already walking, with Foggy half a step behind._ _

__“In an apartment that Wendell and Heather Rand used to own,” Karen pointed out. There’d been a little legal debate over the deed when Danny Rand had reappeared, but they’d settled the matter out of court, and Joy retained ownership._ _

__“Wait.” On the other end, it sounded like Matt was tapping on the walls of wherever he was. “You’re breaking into a house? Without me?” His dry, flat tone made it impossible to tell whether he actually objected to their stepping onto his turf or whether he didn’t care and was just giving them crap for the hell of it._ _

__“Hey, no worries, pal,” said Foggy. “We’re definitely consulting you on our break-in techniques. This whole ‘break and enter’ thing _really_ isn’t my specialty. In fact, I’d say we should wait for you to get back from your field trip to do this, but Elektra doesn’t seem to be in a patient mood.” _ _

__Elektra laughed. “Patience may be a virtue,” she said, “but it’s not one I happen to possess.”_ _

__“Hey, hold on before you break in there,” Ben said sharply. “They’re standing up from their table. Shaking hands…nope, false alarm, the Meachums aren’t leaving, just Danny Rand.”_ _

__In the background, the sound of people exchanging farewells, walking, sitting back down at their table. Karen wasn’t even in the room, but it felt to her like the atmosphere at the table had shifted with the departure of Danny Rand. “You guys are recording what they’re saying, right?”_ _

__“You know it,” said Doris._ _

__“Dad,” Joy Meachum was saying, “I’m starting to get really concerned about the plant. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have another inspection done, if only to have solid, recent documentation of our compliance if the case ends up going to court.”_ _

__“Oh, it’s not going to go to court.” Even casual, dismissive, and mildly affectionate, Harold Meachum’s voice still got Karen’s hackles up._ _

__“Tell Danny that,” Ward Meachum said irritably. “And then tell him to stop breaking into his own goddamned factories like he’s playing cops and robbers. This shit’s embarrassing, and he’s not taking the hint.”_ _

__“Well, maybe if you worked a little harder to include him in the running of the business…”_ _

__Ward groaned. “You mean babysit him? Because that’s worked out real well so far.”_ _

__“Look,” said Harold, sounding calm and reasonable, “the kid’s got a lot to learn. Nobody denies that. But he cares about the company. Maybe he just needs something to occupy him—you don’t have anything for him to do with Legal, do you, Joy?”_ _

__“Not really, Dad. We have plenty of paralegals and assistants. I don’t know what Danny could do that he’d be qualified for _and_ willing to do.” _ _

__“Hmm. Perhaps we might convince him to go back to school—a little grounding in business principles wouldn’t do him any harm, and God knows his GED isn’t going to impress the board once he’s gotten settled in.”_ _

__“Yeah, good luck convincing him to actually fucking do that.”_ _

__“Ward!” Harold’s voice was sharper now, colder. “We’re in public. Watch your mouth.”_ _

__He must have gestured toward Joy, or looked at her or something, because she stood up. “Don’t mind me. I have to make a trip to the ladies’ room—try not to get in a fight while I’m gone, please?”_ _

__A woman’s high-heeled shoes walked away from the table, and two chairs squeaked on the floors as they were scooted closer together._ _

__“Well, isn’t this interesting,” Claire said. “Secret time!”_ _

__Ward was whispering at his father, but Karen’s mikes were sensitive to sound—all it took was a little filtering on the computer end, and Wards words came through loud and clear. “Let’s just _end_ this Staten Island thing! If Joy finds out, she’s gonna feel _terrible_ , and there’s no way she’ll keep going on this lawsuit.” _ _

__“Joy’s my daughter,” said Harold, not whispering but talking in a low, vaguely threatening tone under his breath. “She’ll do what she has to do for this company. Like you will. You know perfectly well what we owe the Hand. And if we can make a profit on their favor, I call that a win-win.”_ _

__“Yeah, and then we’re officially working with a guy named _Diamondback._ That’ll look good in Forbes.” _ _

__Harold and Ward exchanged a few more heated, quiet exchanges, but as far as Karen was concerned, the important part was over. “Matt,” she said, “Time for you to take some pictures. I think I know what they’re doing at the Staten Island plant.”_ _

__***_ _

__Danny Rand, as a general rule, wasn’t easy to corner. Though his easygoing obliviousness made it a fairly simple matter to follow him, he didn’t like feeling trapped, and the results when he felt that way could be…explosive._ _

__But then, Karen wasn’t alone, and knowing that gave her the courage to smile into Danny Rand’s scowling face and say, “Hi, Mr. Rand. We have some information about your company for you.”_ _

__“Information?” Rand looked from one face to the other. “Who the hell are you people? Get out!”_ _

__“Can’t kick us out of the building, Mr. Rand,” Ben said. “We’re guests.” It was technically true; the building on whose seventeenth floor Danny Rand lived in a luxurious apartment was new, still only at about 60% occupancy. It had been a snap for Karen to slide her name onto a lease in the office, carry up some crap from the Counterweight building in moving boxes, and introduce herself to the security guard as the new tenant on the nineteenth-floor corner apartment. Karen wasn’t 100% sure she wouldn’t be keeping the apartment after this job was complete, she thought as she looked around the luxurious lounge where Danny had been doing his yoga. The rent was steep, but the amenities were top of the line._ _

__“Yeah, well, I’ve had about enough of people lecturing me about the company,” Rand said, uncrossing his legs and standing up. “Why don’t you call Ward or Joy Meachum. I’m sure they’d just _love_ your information.” _ _

__“We’re going to,” said Ben. “But we thought you might want to be the first to know that you were right about the Staten Island plant.”_ _

__That stopped Rand dead in his tracks. “I…what about the Staten Island plant?”_ _

__“You were right that there was something fishy going on there. Matt, give him the photos.”_ _

__Matt pulled the envelope of photos out of his jacket and handed them to Rand, who took them out and studied them intently. Karen watched him just as intently, keen to see his reaction._ _

__After a moment, he looked up. “What is this?”_ _

__“It’s a next-generation nuclear weapon,” said Doris. As a news junkie from a military family, Doris had a surprising amount of knowledge of weapons at her fingertips. This was a trait that seemed to endear her to Elektra, who was even now watching Doris with a bright pleasure at odds with her usual impatience. “Traditional nuclear weapons get their force from fission or a combination of fission and fusion, but y’all seem to have managed one that runs just on fusion.”_ _

__“Rand doesn’t make weapons,” said Rand urgently, like he was trying to persuade himself as much as the rest of them. Ben shook his head._ _

__“Rand _didn’t_ make weapons, until it started working with The Hand.” Rand straightened up, his eyes wide with shock and anger. “Oh, guess you’ve heard of them. How ‘bout a weapons developer who goes by the name of ‘Diamondback’?” Rand shook his head, and Ben shrugged. “Don’t blame you, it’s a stupid name. Diamondback’s real name is Willis Stryker, and he may be a little unstable, but the man is a _genius_ when it comes to coming up with ways for people to kill each other. Stryker got into it with a guy in Harlem a while back—testing some super suit, I hear—and just about died. But he’s out of the hospital now, and working with the Hand to build deadlier, easier-to-transport nuclear weapons in Rand’s facilities.” _ _

__“That’s not true,” said Rand in a small voice. “My company would never work with the Hand.”_ _

__“Tell that to the ladies dealing heroin on the 31st floor,” Matt said casually. “They’re the ones providing the funding and manpower—you guys are just providing the facilities.”_ _

__“We don’t think Joy Meachum knows about it,” Claire added. “She’s been operating under the assumption that the plant really is making clean energy on the up and up. But the thing is, though the waste processing capacities would be enough if you were just generating power over there, when you throw in all the hazardous waste that comes from building bombs in the basement?” She shrugged. “Yeah, I think there’s a rule or two being broken there.”_ _

__“Ward and Harold Meachum _definitely_ know, though.” Karen stepped forward with her tablet and showed Rand the photos she’d pulled off the Meachums’ personal servers. “And they also know you’ve been doing a little investigating of your own.” Karen had grabbed the pictures on her initial dive into the company’s servers, but she hadn’t known what to make of them—why did the Meachums have grainy photos of what looked like Danny Rand breaking into a building? Now she knew. _ _

__“I thought I’d managed to avoid the security cameras,” Rand murmured to himself, and Foggy gave him a commiserating smile._ _

__“You did, bro. Joy Meachum was having you followed by a private investigator.”_ _

__“No.” Rand shook his head. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t they say anything about it? They give me a hard time about pretty much everything else, why would they let me keep breaking in if they knew I was doing it?”_ _

__“Because Harold told Joy and Ward not to mention it,” said Karen. “And Harold didn’t say anything because he knew it wasn’t going to matter. He knew you hadn’t found what he was hiding there, and he knew you weren’t going to be able to talk about it even if you had.”_ _

__“Those guys with the guns, you mean?” Rand snorted. “What, not only is Harold making nuclear weapons for the Hand, he’s trying to have me killed?”_ _

__“And Colleen Wing,” Matt offered helpfully. “So he can blame it on her cage-fighting friends.”_ _

__Rand swung around to Matt. “ _What_?” _ _

__“If it helps,” said Elektra impatiently, “I don’t think him trying to have you killed has anything to do with the weapons. I think it has to do with this.” She smacked a small stack of papers, folded in thirds and faded with age, against his chest, and he took them automatically, dropping the photos of the plant._ _

__“What’s this?”_ _

__“It’s your parents’ will.” There was real sympathy in Foggy’s face now, or at least Foggy’s best facsimile of real sympathy._ _

__“We found it in Joy Meachum’s safe, which as you know used to be your parents’ safe,” said Elektra. “This version cuts him out entirely and splits his cut of the shares between you, Joy, and Ward. You get a bit more,” she added. “Perks of being the founder’s son, I suppose.”_ _

__“Wait, why did my parents cut him out of their will? Did they know about him dealing with the Hand?”_ _

__Foggy winced. “Yeah, uh, maybe, but they don’t mention it in the will. They actually, ah….” He waved a hand at the documents. “Why don’t you go ahead and read that. The relevant part’s on page 2, about halfway down.”_ _

__Rand flipped through the pages. As he read, his eyebrows climbed closer and closer to his hairline. “He was _sexually harassing_ my mother?” _ _

__“I’d believe it,” said Karen. “Guy’s a creep.”_ _

__“I’m actually kind of surprised they mention it in the will like that,” Foggy said. “It’s pretty explicit for a legal document.”_ _

__Doris stepped closer, taking the will from Rand’s hands, and flipped it back to the first page. “Look at the date on that,” she said. “A year after the will currently on file, but only a month before your parents died.”_ _

__“Pretty suspicious,” Ben said, “though I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions about it. You’ve got more than enough to put Harold away as it is.”_ _

__“So why aren’t you doing that?” Rand looked up and blinked at them, as if waking from a daydream. “Who are you anyway, and why are you telling me all this?” His eyes were red and shiny, and Karen, who’d mostly thought of Danny Rand as a goofy pain in the ass throughout this job, genuinely felt a little sorry for him. It was a lot to dump on a guy at once._ _

__“We’re trying to help the people who’ve already been hurt by that factory without dropping a single bomb,” Claire said seriously. “A handful have died already, and the rest are dealing with crazy medical costs. We take all this info to the press or the police, maybe they put Harold away—hell, maybe they throw all of you in prison—and maybe they shut down the plant, but that doesn’t help the people who are suffering now. And the idea itself, the whole clean energy thing? It’s not a bad idea, if you get rid of the weapons dealers, and it sounds like it’s actually _working_. Your company could actually do a lot of good, if you clean out the trash.” _ _

__“And there’s a lot of goddamned trash,” Karen put in. It had to be said._ _

__“So you’ve got a choice,” said Ben. “We’ve got back-ups of all this stuff. You take all those pictures and documents back with you and think about whether you want us to drag your company’s name through the mud publicly, let these people you apologized to on television die while their families go bankrupt, or whether you want to help us.”_ _

__Rand swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. With them still closed, he said in a hoarse voice, “I don’t have to think about it. I want to help.”_ _

__Doris smiled. “Now, that’s what we were hoping you’d say.”_ _

__***_ _

__“You’re probably wondering why I called you all here,” Danny announced to the room at large._ _

__“I’m wondering why you sound like you’re about to announce who killed Mr. Boddy,” said Ward Meachum, giving him a dubious look. “Was it Professor Plum in the library with the lead pipe?”_ _

__“Oof. Danny, you’re gonna have to work on that if you want to stay in the business world,” said Ben, shaking his head. They’d given Danny an earpiece, they were watching the whole thing by camera, but Karen still felt like she should have been there in the room with them, if only to see the look on Harold Meachum’s face up close when he realized it was all falling down around him._ _

__“Danny, what’s this all about?” Joy asked, looking genuinely confused._ _

__“It’s about the direction this company is going.” From his briefcase, he pulled a handful of files. Karen had helped put them together. One held photos Matt had taken from the factory. One had financial spreadsheets showing Ward’s embezzlement from the company, Harold’s under-the-table deals, the weird figures from the Staten Island plant. Together, they would be enough to tell a story to a jury. One had a copy of Wendell Rand’s will. Foggy and Elektra had helped Danny go through the original with his attorney— Elektra, surprisingly, was good with contracts—but neither wanted to risk one of the Meachums destroying it at this meeting._ _

__“The drugs on the 31st floor were one thing—”_ _

__“The what now?” asked Ward._ _

__Danny continued as if Ward hadn’t spoken. “—But Rand Enterprises has _never_ been a weapons manufacturer. And to be making dangerous nuclear weapons in a facility that is _not_ designed for that kind of work, and on top of that, to be working with an illegal arms dealer to develop those weapons and to be using them to prop up a criminal organization, well, I know it’s not what my father would have wanted.” _ _

__Harold, who’d been dangerously silent in the corner of the Rand Enterprises conference room, tapped at the table with a bland expression on his face. “Those are pretty serious allegations, Danny,” he said mildly. “Where are you getting your information?”_ _

__“Friends,” Danny said firmly, and Elektra laughed. Claire shushed her._ _

__On her side of the table, Joy reached out for a folder, looked briefly at the contents, and blanched. “Ward?” she asked. “You’ve been stealing from the company?”_ _

__“Oh, come on,” said Ward, rolling his eyes. “All the shit he just said and _that_ ’s what you’re worried about?” _ _

__“ _Why_?” There was something approaching desperation in her face, and Ward’s expression somehow grew both softer and more resigned. _ _

__“Because I knew that sooner or later, something like this was going to happen, and I wanted some kind of cushion when it did.” His mouth twisted sourly. “Of course, it turned out to be one more thing he could hold over me. Of _course_ it did. _ _

__The desperate expression grew horrified. “Wait, this…this nuclear bomb crap is real?”_ _

__Harold reached out a hand to pat Joy’s. “No, no, sweetie, it’s just a little side project. Possible applications of the energy from the plant, but theoretical only.”_ _

__Danny flipped open another folder. “These look theoretical to you?”_ _

__Harold squinted. “What am I looking at?”_ _

__“You’re looking at a nuclear warhead, Harold, and you know it.” Danny’s hand clenched into a fist. “You and Ward have been working with the Hand.”_ _

__“The Hand?” asked Harold, raising his eyebrows. “What is that, some kind of indie band?”_ _

__Danny slammed his fist on the table. “You know what it is!”_ _

__Joy reached under her father’s arm to slide the folder closer, peering at the images. “There’s nothing in these photos to say that they were taken in our facility,” she said. “And they’re clearly printed from a computer—the image could have been manipulated.” Ever the lawyer._ _

__“They’re not,” Danny said. “I have an eyewitness.”_ _

__In the briefing room at Counterweight Incorporated, Matt laughed and rocked back and forth in his seat a few times, pleased. “An eyewitness,” he repeated. “More or less.”_ _

__“This doesn’t prove that any of us had knowledge of what was happening in these facilities,” Joy pointed out. Danny fixed her with an incredulous, hurt look._ _

__“You know what, Joy, I’m really _trying_ to tell myself that you didn’t know what was going on. But the fact that you had me followed while I was trying to look into this plant? The fact that somebody took a _shot_ at me while your private investigator was reporting every move I made? Took a shot at my girlfriend? It doesn’t look good.” _ _

__“I would _never_ try to hurt you,” said Joy indignantly. Danny pulled out the will. _ _

__“Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t, but since your father stands to inherit my shares of the company if I die under the current will, and the more recent version of my father’s will found in _your_ apartment cuts him out entirely, I feel like you both—you _all_ —have pretty good motives to want me dead.” _ _

__Silence fell after that announcement. Wordlessly, Ward took the will from Danny and studied it. After a minute or two, he turned to his father and said, “You son of a bitch.”_ _

__“Oh, where are you even getting this, Danny?” said Ward, waving a dismissive hand. “Anybody can just write a will, and what the hell are you doing in my daughter’s apartment anyway?”_ _

__“What, like she’s the only one who can hire a private investigator?”_ _

__Perhaps Harold or even Ward could have mentioned at that point that a private investigator’s license didn’t let people break and enter into a private residence, but neither of them got the chance, because at that point, Joy said, “Danny, look, it was never about—I wasn’t trying to keep you away from the plant, honest to God, I was just trying to make sure you weren’t into anything shady, you were acting so weird, and…I swear to you, I didn’t know anything about this will. Where was it?”_ _

__“Safe,” said Danny gravely. “It’s behind the Klimt print in the master bedroom.”_ _

__“God, I love that painting,” Joy said. “I never moved it. I didn’t even know there _was_ a safe in there.” _ _

__Danny softened a little. “Maybe not.” His eyes turned to Harold, then, and his expression hardened again. “But someone did.”_ _

__“I don’t think I like what you’re suggesting,” Harold said, his voice finally showing a little stress._ _

__“Well, I don’t _care_ if you don’t like it!” Danny’s grasp on his temper finally broke, and he stood up, pacing angrily. _ _

__“Hey,” Ben said. “Remember the plan.”_ _

__“The _plan_ ,” Danny repeated irritably. _ _

__“Yeah, the plan,” said Doris, her voice implacable. “Honey, the point here isn’t for you to get revenge. The point is to make your company what your parents would have wanted it to be.”_ _

__“Um, who are you talking to?” Ward asked._ _

__Danny turned back around and faced the Meachums. “Myself,” he insisted unconvincingly. “Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen. I don’t have the evidence to pin my parents’ deaths or the attempt on my life on anyone in particular. But I _do_ have enough evidence to make a pretty good case that all of you knew about the illegal nuclear weapons being built on Rand Enterprises property.” _ _

__All three of them loudly objected to that, but another fist pound on the table had them all silent. Karen couldn’t blame them. Danny Rand had a hell of a punch; it looked like if he hit that table again it might just crack down the middle. “I’ve got photos, recordings, financial records. The question is, who actually was behind it, and who’s going down for it? Because it’s not gonna be Rand Enterprises, I can tell you that.”_ _

__The Meachums each stared at Danny for a few moments, and then at each other. After a moment, Joy said, “Dad?” Her voice quavered a little, her eyes full of betrayed hurt; if it was genuine, it was the most emotion Karen had ever seen Joy Meachum express._ _

__“Honey, I know I haven’t always made the best decisions,” Harold said, his tone placating and cloying, “but everything I did, I did for your brother and you.”_ _

__“The _hell_ you did,” said Ward, leaning over the table and looking like he wanted to strangle his father with his bare hands. “You did it for _yourself_.” _ _

__“That’s pretty rich, Ward, coming from a man who stole from his own family company,” said Harold coolly, but Ward wasn’t finished._ _

__“I _told_ you this nuclear weapons thing was bullshit. I _told_ you Danny and Joy were gonna find out about it. But no, you’re the boss, everything’s gotta go your way, and now I find that you’re trying to have Danny killed because otherwise, you lose your shares in the company?” Ward shook his head. “Fuck it! I don’t even care if I go to prison. Danny?” He turned to look at Danny, his expression manic now. “What do you need? You need me to sign something, you need me to testify in court against this bastard, whatever—lemme know and I’m your man.” _ _

__“Ward!” Joy looked between her brother and her father, her face a mask of horror._ _

__“You ungrateful little shit,” Harold said in a low voice._ _

__“Hey,” said Ward sharply, “he’s putting you in a shitty position, too, Joy. Think about it—every time he has you come out and say the factory’s EPA compliant, he’s making you lie. He’s making you cover up for him. That lady who came and cried in your office? That guy who died of the weird heart cancer? He’s making them your problem.”_ _

__Harold patted her hand again, but she pulled it away as if she’d been burned. Not giving up, though, Harold fixed her with a kind, beseeching look. “Sweetheart,” he said, “it was never like that.”_ _

__Joy looked down at the folder in front of her—the will, at this point—then slowly looked up again. “All right, Danny,” she said, her face once again the composed, polite mask she’d worn when dealing with ‘Fulton Nielsen.’ “Let’s talk deals here. What’s the best way to play this for Rand Enterprises?”_ _

__Karen, watching on her high-definition projection on the screen in the briefing room, could see the exact moment that Harold realized both his children were against him. He turned to Danny. His benevolent smile was twisted with such cold rage that Karen felt a chill of fear, even without being in the same building as the man. “You turned my children against me,” he said, his voice almost a growl._ _

__“I think you did that all by yourself, Harold,” said Danny, not quite calm but not looking an inch away from violence or from breaking down crying anymore. “Ward, Joy, here’s what I think.”_ _

__***_ _

__“Well,” Foggy concluded, still focused on the screen where CNN was playing footage from Danny, Ward, and Joy’s press conference, “I’m not gonna say that was the smoothest operation I’ve ever been on, but it certainly ended a lot better than I expected it to.”_ _

__That wasn’t a bad way of putting it, Karen thought—better than expected. Ward just hated his father, and whether it was the shock of knowing what he was involved in or the lure of his shares in Rand Enterprises, Joy had been willing to throw Harold under the bus, too. Harold could not only be tied to the Staten Island bomb-making but to multiple other criminal dealings in Rand’s past—not all of them, of course, but enough to put him away for a long time._ _

__The Hand, unfortunately, had vanished as if they’d never been, and without any paper trail connecting them to Rand or to Diamondback, tracking them down would be a whole other job, one that everyone but Elektra and Matt had strenuously vetoed. The deal Danny, Joy, and Ward had worked out for themselves basically covered up their own involvements in any wrongdoing. It remained to be seen what Harold Meachum would ultimately be charged with, and whether anything like justice would be done. But he was out of Rand Enterprises, and the weapons program had been shut down, and Danny Rand and the younger Meachums had established a large medical fund for those who’d gotten sick from the waste on the Staten Island plant. And now Karen was sitting on a soft, leather-covered couch in the lounge she’d set up for just this purpose: for sitting and relaxing after a job with her crew. Yeah, Karen thought. Their first job had gone okay._ _

__“Oh, looks like they’re putting Harold in the back of a squad car now,” Claire narrated to Matt. “And he does _not_ look happy.” Matt laughed. _ _

__“Bet he didn’t think he’d be the one to take the fall.’_ _

__“Yeah, yeah,” said Ben, smiling wryly at the screen. “We did okay. But now for the real question—are we gonna keep doing this?”_ _

__“What, like a nine-to-five job?” Elektra wrinkled her nose. “How dull.”_ _

__“Doesn’t have to be. We talked about just playing on a case-by-case basis,” Karen said, hoping she didn’t sound as invested as she felt._ _

__“I for one had a good time,” Doris said firmly. “Learned a lot, took down that scumbag, and nobody made me rappel down an elevator shaft or anything. I feel like this is most I’ve done in years.”_ _

__“Do you _want_ to rappel down an elevator shaft, Mrs. Urich?” Matt asked. “Because we can make that happen.” _ _

__“Well, _I_ do,” said Elektra, sounding completely sincere about it. _ _

__“Oh, good lord.” Claire slapped Matt’s thigh and stood up to refill her drink. “You just take it easy and let those ribs heal,” she said sternly. “And that goes double for you, Elektra. You just got _shot_ at a few days ago, I think you can take it easy on the death-defying for a while.” _ _

__“I second that,” said Ben. “And I’m gonna be frank with you all, I’m not as young as I used to be, and if we can avoid near-death experiences on these jobs, I think that’d be best.”_ _

__Doris lay her head on his shoulder and took his hand. “Oh, _you_.” He chuckled, and her smile widened. Karen felt a weird mix of melancholy and affection press on her chest, and she cleared her throat. Doris squeezed Ben’s hand and said, “You can’t tell me you weren’t in your element, Ben Urich. This is like chasing down a story without having to worry about a research budget or an editor.” _ _

__“Yeah, but with all new worries about getting arrested or _shot_ ,” Ben pointed out. He didn’t sound too pissed about it, though. _ _

__“Well. I suppose if there are any cases that are particularly interesting, I’d do this again,” Elektra said casually._ _

__“Yeah.” Matt smiled at her. “I had fun.”_ _

__“I don’t know, guys,” Foggy said, frowning at his phone. “This one didn’t turn out to be a real money-maker. Rand stock has actually been kind of fluctuating all day—I made a little, but not much. And what with hotels, car rentals, and God, I don’t even want to think about the money Karen sunk in this building…I don’t know, I like to get paid when I work.”_ _

__Ben gestured at the screen, where one of the women with heart cancer was giving a tear-filled interview. The word ‘grateful’ came up a lot, as did the word ‘justice.’ “That right there,” said Ben. “That right there’s our payment.”_ _

__“Yeah,” said Claire, her voice full of satisfaction, and they all took a moment to feel the impact of what had happened. When they’d taken down Confederated Global, it had been for themselves. Knowing that they’d actually helped people who needed it? That was a feeling Karen wanted more of._ _

__“Huh.” Foggy scratched at his chin. “I’m, uh. I’m not immune to the odd charitable impulse, but I think I could probably use a little more persuading. What do you say, Karen? We could grab a little celebratory dinner, and you could give me some details about your business model going forward.”_ _

__Karen frowned. The words were all business, but the tone, the hopeful smile Foggy was giving her…it felt like being asked on a date. A date with a con artist, she thought, and then corrected, with a _friend_. Without really meaning to, she darted a look at Claire, who was still standing over by the table with drinks. She raised her eyebrows at Karen with an expression that Karen didn’t know how to read. _Whatever_ , she thought. _This is why I don’t do relationships._ “Sure, Foggy,” she said. “That sounds good.” _ _

__“Huh,” said Matt thoughtfully._ _

__Karen wanted to tell him that her dating life was none of his business, no matter what the hell he was smelling, but she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it in front of everyone else. Luckily, she didn’t have to say a thing—Elektra let out a sigh and said, “Great, that’s all worked out then. I say the rest of us order in. Not pizza, though, New York pizza is disgusting.”_ _

__“I beg your pardon,” Matt said stiffly, his attention off Karen entirely. “That’s a pretty generalizing statement. Where have you even gotten pizza from here before?”_ _

__“Hey, hey,” Foggy broke in, “your pizza’s between you and your god. I mean, I like a good New York pizza as much as the next guy, but who’s to deny the pleasures of a good Chicago deep dish?”_ _

__“ _Deep dish_? Are you kidding me? That’s not pizza, that’s a _casserole._ ” _ _

__As the three of them squabbled on the couch, Claire quietly left the room, heading toward her office. Karen watched her go, unsure how she felt, or how she was supposed to feel. It came as a surprise when someone grabbed her hand. She almost jerked away before seeing the glint off Ben’s glasses out of the corner of her eye._ _

__“Hey,” Ben said quietly. “Not bad, considering I think that was the first group heist you ever planned.”_ _

__Karen felt her face warm. “Yeah, as it turned out, I think you did more of the planning than I did.”_ _

__Ben shrugged, letting go of her hand. “We all need some help from time to time.” He gazed steadily at her for a moment, and then added, “Look, there are definitely some kinks to be worked out of this whole operation, that’s for sure. But I gotta say…I think there’s potential.”_ _

__“What he means,” said Doris, leaning over and patting the hand Ben had just let go of, “is thanks for dragging us out of retirement. That man was miserable without some white whale to bring down.”_ _

__“Well,” said Karen. Her face felt fire-engine red. “You’re welcome.”_ _

__Doris smiled. “You kids have fun tonight.”_ _

__Karen cast a glance over her shoulder to where Foggy, Matt, and Elektra were still arguing about the merits of pizza and other various kinds of takeout. “I think we will.”_ _

__To Karen’s surprise, Foggy’s dinner suggestion wasn’t some fancy, five-star restaurant, but a little hole in the wall Karen wouldn’t have even noticed if Foggy hadn’t pointed it out. The ambience was…seedy, to say the least, but the food, which was mostly Irish-style pub grub with some additions like hamburgers and nachos, was delicious, and she told Foggy so._ _

__He smiled. “Glad you like it. This is one of my favorite places to come when I’m in New York.” He gazed around at the old newspaper clippings plastering the walls, and the booths on which probably decades of patrons had scratched names, dates, hearts, and curse words. “Guess I’ll be seeing a bit more of it.”_ _

__Karen perked up. “You’re sticking around?”_ _

__Foggy shrugged. “Yeah, you know, I’m not usually a ‘work for nothing’ kind of guy, but I don’t think there’s anything saying that future jobs couldn’t be more profitable, like you said back at the beginning. And besides…” He took a sip of his water. “There’s real value in this business in a team you can work with, people you trust. We’re gonna really have to work on your long con, because I really don’t think you appreciate the work that goes into building an identity that _can’t_ be done with a computer. That being said, all that’s something you can learn. You guys might be batshit—” _ _

__“ _Thanks_ ,” Karen said ironically, not really offended. Foggy grinned. _ _

__“—But there’s a good vibe, and it really is an interesting combination of skills. I like interesting. That’s why I like _you_ , by the way.” _ _

__Karen was a little taken aback. He’d gotten to the chase faster than she’d expected._ _

__Her feelings must have shown on her face, because Foggy’s smile softened. “Hey,” he said. “No pressure or anything. I just like your style, and thought we could have a nice time together. Doesn’t have to go past this dinner. Plus I get that someone who does things on the computer end _might_ feel a little weird about going on a date with a grafter.” _ _

__“Oh, it’s not that,” Karen hastened to reassure him. And it wasn’t, really. Foggy might ditch them later to make money, but she didn’t think he’d rip them off, and she particularly didn’t think he’d rip _her_ off. Not now. “It’s more….” _ _

__“Your thing with Claire?”_ _

__Karen groaned. “Oh my God, I’m going to _kill_ Matt.” _ _

__“Hey,” said Foggy with a laugh. “He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Between his face, Claire’s, yours, and the kind of weird vibe between you and Claire, I got the picture. If I’m barking up the wrong tree here, you know, no hard feelings._ _

__“You’re not,” Karen said shortly, unsure what to say. “I’m—I mean, I like men, too. We—it was just a one-time thing, I think. I don’t really do the monogamy thing, anyway.”_ _

__“Yeah? More of a lone wolf type?”_ _

__Now there was a mental image. “Not exactly, I guess. I just…I spent a lot of time when I was younger worrying about fitting into a particular kind of relationship”—the kind where nobody ever got divorced, and being a wife and mother was a woman’s most important job, and where the slut-prude line was a thin and dangerous line to walk—“and worrying about whether what I wanted was sinful or not, and now….” She shrugged. “I don’t worry about that anymore. I don’t limit myself, and I don’t let other people limit me.”_ _

__Foggy pursed his mouth into an impressed kind of smile and nodded. There was something calculating about the way his eyes focused on her, but Karen didn’t worry about it too much. Reading people was what Foggy did, and there was nothing harsh about his scrutiny. “I get that,” he said. “You gonna be able to work okay with Claire?”_ _

__“Didn’t we work together okay to finish this job?” asked Karen, feeling mildly indignant, and he chuckled and nodded._ _

__“Yeah, of course. And it’s not like workplace hookups can’t be handled professionally. God knows my life would be a little less fun without my recurring on-the-job hookups with Marci.”_ _

__“You guys ever work together long-term?” Karen could imagine that between Marci and Foggy, they could rake in unbelievable amounts of cash. Working with her would probably be a lot more profitable than working with Karen and the gang._ _

__His expression went a little distant. “Yeah. But I think she’d say that I’m like you—more the lone wolf type.”_ _

__It felt like continuing on this line of conversation would be prying, and as curious as Karen was, she could take her time finding out about Foggy, about all the rest of them. They’d have time. So she cleared her throat and said, “So, what conclusions did you guys reach about the pizza question this afternoon?”_ _

__The night was fun, lighthearted, with less talk of cons and more talk of ridiculous current events and even more ridiculous pop culture shit. Foggy was a font of random trivia about musicals and nineties action movies; Karen had thrown herself wholeheartedly into sci-fi fandom once she no longer had any obligation to be a Nice, Popular Girl; and they both had a healthy disdain for Oscar bait films—the conversation lasted them from the pub to a fancier cocktail bar and finally back to Karen’s hotel without ever lagging._ _

__In the lobby, Foggy smiled at her, only a little wistfully. “I had a good time.”_ _

__“Me too,” said Karen, trying to think of a good way to say that while she wasn’t theoretically opposed to sex on the first date, and she wasn’t theoretically opposed to a second date with him, she wasn’t up for sex tonight._ _

__Foggy, bless him, could probably read all that on her face. He leaned forward and kissed her—on the mouth, but gentle and quick, the kind of peck mothers gave their kids or something. “‘Night, Karen,” he said. “I think you ought to talk to Claire sometime.”_ _

__Karen didn’t need advice from him on her personal life, and would have told him so, but he turned and left before she could get out more than, “I told you—” Ugh. Karen wondered if always getting the last word in exchanges was a con artist thing. If it was, she thought wryly, maybe she’d get better at it with practice._ _

__Once she got up to her room, she changed into her pajamas and got out her laptop to tweak the Counterweight website, but she didn’t get too far at it before there was a knock at her door. Maybe it was Foggy again, she thought. Probably not hitmen, but she was still cautious as she edged toward the door and peered through the peephole._ _

__Claire._ _

__She opened the door with what she was sure was a quizzical expression. “Is this gonna be our thing now?” she asked. “We have some kind of conflict and then you come by my hotel room?”_ _

__“I don’t actually like waiting around for someone else to call when I want to talk to them,” Claire said, then added with a slightly self-deprecating smile, “Plus I thought it would be weird if I called ahead and you were still on your date.”_ _

__“Would it be less weird if Foggy was up here, too?”_ _

__“Point,” Claire acknowledged. She shoved her hands in her pockets awkwardly, still hovering around by the hotel room door._ _

__Karen took pity on her. “What’s up?”_ _

__Claire rolled her eyes, apparently at herself, and said, “Look, I didn’t handle things super well the other day, and I kind of feel like you were getting the crappy end of the stick.”_ _

__“I don’t really feel that way,” Karen said with a shrug. “You wanted to be with someone, I wanted to be with someone. You were just—quicker to the punch.”_ _

__“Yeah, if you say so. But I was more talking about afterwards. What you said about regretting sleeping with a crook, or whatever—maybe there was a little of that in there.”_ _

__Karen dug up a smile. She wished that Claire would sit down. It was weird to stand around like this, but she wasn’t sure how being the first one to sit down would look. “It’s not like I don’t get it. You’re kind of in a whole new world, and I know it’s a lot more dangerous than where you were before.”_ _

__“True,” said Claire with a nod. “But it was my choice to get involved. And I don’t regret it, I just—I just feel like there’s part of me that hasn’t really caught up with the new normal.” She shook her head. “It’s crazy, when we’re actually in the middle of, like, infiltrating a company, or breaking into a building or whatever, it doesn’t feel weird at all. It’s only afterwards that I think, ‘Holy shit, did I really do that?’”_ _

__She looked up at Karen, her smile a little wobbly around the edges. “Was it like that for you when you got started?”_ _

__When Karen had actually gotten started, she’d been too consumed with grief and rage to think about it, and she’d done a lot afterward to not _have_ to think about it. But you couldn’t keep that kind of thought at bay forever, so it was easy to nod at Claire and say, “Yeah. Yeah, it takes some getting used to.” _ _

__“Right. Well. All I really wanted to say is, I like you. A lot. I think you have a real gift, and no matter what you’ve done with in the past, now you’re using to help people, and I admire the hell out of that.” She smiled, small but real. “I still don’t think us dating would be a good idea, but you think we could be friends? ‘Cause I think I’d like to be friends with you.”_ _

__A grin involuntarily rose to Karen’s face. “I think we already are.”_ _

__Claire’s smile turned relieved. “Cool.”_ _

__“Cool,” Karen repeated._ _

__“So, hey, computer hacker, you get Netflix on this TV?”_ _

__A little confused by the abrupt change of subject, Karen nodded. “Sure, why?”_ _

__“Well,” Claire said casually, “they just added Ocean’s Eleven, and I thought I ought to rewatch it. For professional research, you know?” _ _

__Karen laughed. “Professional research. Of course. Yeah, okay, let’s do a little professional research.”_ _

__All those months of planning, and recruiting, and digging up dirt, and somehow Karen had never predicted that it would lead to watching George Clooney movies in her PJs with Claire on a hotel room couch._ _

__She wasn’t complaining._ _

__***_ _

__Luke Cage clearly wasn’t happy about being in Counterweight’s office. While Patricia Wilson explained the situation that had brought them there—a new set of high-powered weapons escalating gang violence in Harlem, a police force more interested in getting the weapons for themselves than in getting them out of circulation, a corrupt city councilwoman who seemed to be using the situation to prop up both her political career and the shady club she ran on the side—Cage gave all of them seriously unimpressed looks, cast glances at the door, and just generally looked like a guy who didn’t want to be there._ _

__Not that Karen could really blame him. From what she could see in just her cursory background check on him, he had a long history of being scapegoated for shit he hadn’t caused or been involved in, and when he _did_ get involved, it seemed to end with him getting shot with rocket launchers or fighting a weirdo in snake armor or something. (She admitted to a little curiosity about how the man had ended up being more or less bulletproof, but Matt had taken a pretty hard line on her digging further into it, and she’d finally decided discretion was the better part of valor. She supposed super-powered people had to stick together.) _ _

__She wasn’t the only one picking up on Cage’s displeasure. When Ms. Wilson finished her explanation, Ben thanked her and turned to Luke Cage. “Mr. Cage, is there something bothering you? Because it seems to me like, for someone coming here to ask for our help, you seem real unhappy about being here.”_ _

__Karen thought he looked a bit sheepish, but only a bit—his face was serious as he said, “No offense, Mr. Urich, but I thought coming here was a bad idea. I’m only here to make sure Patty doesn’t get ripped off.”_ _

__“Wow, okay,” said Claire, who was clearly kind of offended. “What exactly is it you think we’re going to do?”_ _

__Cage softened a little, but not a lot, as he turned to her. “Promise something you can’t deliver and make the situation even worse. I don’t think a lot of outsiders inserting themselves is gonna do anything but piss off both the cops and Mariah Dillard’s guys and make it even harder for regular people in Harlem.”_ _

__Claire snorted. “Excuse you, but this ‘outsider’ was born and raised in Harlem. My mom lives there, you think I don’t have a stake in this?”_ _

__“Yeah, well, you’re also a nurse, not a cat burglar or a hitman.” Luke gave Matt, Elektra, and Foggy a pretty impressive side-eye._ _

__Elektra looked like she was ready to be offended; Matt, who looked kind of spacy at the moment, said, “Hey, those Judas bullets—did a guy called Diamondback come up with those?”_ _

__Patricia Wilson hadn’t mentioned that, but it was a good question, Karen thought—the proliferation of new, deadlier weapons in New York was a familiar note. Nonplussed, Ms. Wilson looked at Luke Cage, who frowned. “Who told you that?” he asked._ _

__Matt shrugged. “Just, if you want some credentials from us, you should know that on our last job, we ended up derailing the guy’s plan to build nuclear weapons on Staten Island.”_ _

__“Huh.” Cage looked like he was thinking about saying something, but he ultimately decided against it._ _

__Doris took a sip of her tea and set it back down on the table with trembling hands. She hadn’t had a good day yesterday, and everyone had suggested maybe she should take the day off rather than come to this meeting, but she’d insisted. “Mr. Cage,” she said, “I’m gonna be honest with you. I think you’re right that if we stumble in there like a bull in a china shop, we’re gonna cause you all a lot of unnecessary grief. But that doesn’t mean we can’t help. You’ve given the matter a lot of thought—what do you think we ought to do?”_ _

__Luke looked from one of them to another, suspicious but not as hostile as he had been. “And you’d just…do it?”_ _

__“I don’t just _do_ what people tell me,” Elektra said sharply. “But I also don’t want to get killed by a bullet the size of a cannonball, so.” _ _

__“Of course you don’t, honey,” said Doris, giving her a look of gentle reproach, and Elektra subsided. Turning back to Cage, she said, “We’re willing to work with you here, Mr. Cage. If we think something’s a bad idea, or it’s gonna put us or other people in danger, of course we’re not just gonna do it without saying something, but we’re here to help. That’s the whole reason we’re here—help the little guy out of impossible situations.”_ _

__“Little extra leverage,” Ms. Wilson said with a hint of a smile. “Like the name.”_ _

__“Exactly,” said Doris with a smile. Karen grinned at her, glad that Doris had come in today after all._ _

__More seriously, Ms. Wilson added, “I don’t know what your rates are, but you ought to know that the neighborhood’s not in great financial shape. We’ve had a lot of buildings damaged with all the fighting going on, and I for one am dealing with a lot of student debt. Of course we’ll pay you for your work, a bunch of us in the neighborhood have been pooling money for it, but if you could be a little flexible, it would be _greatly_ appreciated.” _ _

__“That’s absolutely fine,” Karen said. “Really, we’re not in this for the money.” Foggy looked like he was going to say something, and Karen elbowed him in the ribs, _hard_. _ _

__He glared at her but gave Patricia Wilson and Luke Cage his friendliest, warmest, ‘I’m absolutely not a con man’ smile. “No worries,” he said. “We operate on…an alternative revenue stream.”_ _

__“Yeah, I’ll just bet you do,” Cage muttered, but he was softening, Karen could tell. To Ben and Doris, he said, “If it turns out you can’t help, we can end this deal at any time. Us, not you—I don’t want you all leaving us in the lurch when it turns out there’s no money for your man there to steal.”_ _

__“Which man?” Matt wondered. “Me or Foggy?”_ _

__“Not the right time, dude,” said Foggy. He turned to Cage and grinned, jerking his thumb in Matt’s direction. “Although for the record, you’re talking about him, right?”_ _

__Cage, who looked like he was holding back a smile, shook his head and said, “Applies to both of you.”_ _

__“Think we’re gonna have to fine-tune the agreement a little beyond that, because there are definitely circumstances where we’re gonna want the freedom to pull out,” Ben said, “but that’s a fair concern. Ms. Wilson, you’re a lawyer—would you be willing to write up an agreement for us?”_ _

__“Absolutely,” Ms. Wilson said firmly._ _

__“Yeah, okay,” said Luke Cage. “Patty writes the agreement….” He sighed. “I guess I’m on board.”_ _

__Karen smiled. Their first real client. “Great,” she said. “Welcome to Counterweight Incorporated, Mr. Cage. We’re looking forward to working with you.”_ _


End file.
